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TALES TO BE TOLD 
TO CHILDREN 


BY 


MARY DICKERSON DONAHEY 




AUTHOR OF “THE CASTLE OF GRUMPY GROUCH.” “DOWN 
SPIDER WEB LANE." "THROUGH THE 
LITTLE GREEN DOOR,” ETC. 



CHICAGO 

THE HOWELL COMPANY 

1915 


f 



Stories republished by the courtesy of ^‘Todays Magazine,*’ 
the “Nevjs Enterprise Association** and the 
Cleveland Plain Dealer.** 


Copyright, 1915 
By The Howell Company 

Copyrighted in England 

Published November, 1915 


Hill Binding Company, Chicago 



N.OV 29 1915 


©CI.A416595 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 

Page 

The Stories of the Gardens in the Wall . . 9 

The Garden of Misunderstanding . . . . 11 

The Garden of Rainy Days 19 

The Garden of Being Sick 26 

The Garden of After Dark 32 

The Garden of Sulky Times 40 

The Garden of Lonely Hours . . . . .48 

The Garden of Mistakes 56 

The Stories of the Little Star Babies ... 65 

When the Man in the Moon Met the Little Star 

Babies 67 

The Story of the Wakeful Star Baby . . .75 

The Story of the Teasing Ogre 83 

The Story of the Little Lost Stars . . . .91 

Green Cheese and the Man in the Moon . . 99 

When Grandmother Was a Little Girl Stories 109 

The Cat Who Adopted a Fox Ill 

Saving Snowball 117 

The Story of Old Ranger 122 

The Story of Feather Head 128 

“Just One More^^ Stories for Little Folks . . 137 

The Bravest Flower 139 

The Robins’ Summer in Town 141 

The Three Wishes . 144 

A Story of the Dandelions 146 

The Discontented Tadpole 148 

The Doll Who Ran Away 151 

Dickey’s Friend 153 

The Flower Princess 156 

Naughty Nick 159 


DEDICATION 

TO 


GRANDMA” 


INTRODUCTION 


The fine old art of story telling is once more 
coming into its own. It is the profession of 
many people. And teachers, kindergartners, 
play-ground or library workers, consider it a 
necessary adjunct to their training, while par- 
ents and nurses, relatives and friends, are dis- 
covering more and more the joy of being able 
to tell stories to the little folk, and the great 
advantage that lies in doing it. 

For — it is much pleasanter to entertain the 
youngsters that way, than by turning oneself 
into an elephant or a captured army, much 
simpler than to lay oneself open to answering 
all the questions the inquiring mind of child- 
hood is heir to, much more desirable than to 
take the small charges out to the candy store, 
and entertain them by stuffing them physically, 
instead of mentally. 

Some people, however, have a notion that 
this story telling, or reading even, is a very 
special art. Really and truly it is not. The 
secret of being entertaining lies in interest and 
enthusiasm. 

There are little book worms, who would sit 


6 


Introduction 


silent, and drink in every word of a dictionary. 
But you cannot interest the average child, un- 
less you are interested yourself. You can’t 
make it enthuse over a thing which you pal- 
pably consider dull as ditch water. 

Don’t read in a monotone — unless you are 
trying to read a sick or naughty child to sleep. 
Don’t read “OH dear,” said John, “Why did 
that door move?” all in one tone. Make it 
“Oh DEAR,” said John, ‘WHY did that door 
move?” Make the moving of that door a 
mysterious, exciting thing, and with your inflec- 
tion you have created interest — an interest the 
words themselves really do not hold. 

While you’re reading or story telling, try 
hard not to think of how you’ll warm over that 
old roast of beef for the third time, or how 
you are going to tell the new stenographer she 
mustn’t wear paint, or low lacy waists, in your 
office, without making her cry. 

As your attention wanders, so does the atten- 
tion of your small audience. There are no 
more critical listeners in all the world than 
children. They have not learned to be polite, 
and frankly will not listen if they’re bored. 

And the youngsters do so love to have the 
characters “done” in different voices! That is 


Introduction 


7 


hard. Few of us have the talents of the won- 
derful “Sloppy’’ — talents possessed also by 
“Sloppy’s” creator. My father, who had heard 
Dickens read, said that closing your eyes, you 
could fancy yourself hearing a conversation 
among many people. 

Now, we lesser mortals can’t do that. But 
we can at least change from bass to falsetto. 
We can whine where the character whines, cry 
or stutter or roar, as the story demands. 

Can’t? Nonsense. Try it and see. If you 
can’t, you should. Feel silly doing it? Why? 
Not before children surely. They love to see 
grown folks come off their pedestals and be 
undignified. The very fact you try, will win 
their interest. 

Telling children stories hard? Why, not at 
all — if you put your heart and soul into it, if you 
don’t do it as a mere stop-gap in the day, but as 
the thing of greatest interest at the moment. 

Interest — enthusiasm — a real desire to please. 
Those are the only things necessary to a story 
teller, for the ordinary, everyday purposes of 
life, by the ordinary, everyday parent or friend. 

Of course, if you wish to do story telling 
professionally — that, as Kipling remarks, is 
another story ! Mary DICKERSON Donahey. 



THE STORIES OF THE GARDENS IN 
THE WALL 


( 


THE GARDEN OF MISUNDER- 
STANDING 


Of all the rooms in Aunt Lulu’s big house, 
Bobby Preston liked the tower room best. It 
was very small, and had in it. only a couch bed, 
a chair and a table. But it was almost round. 
Two of its four big windows looked straight 
into the tree tops, and the others down and 
across the wide lawns, while the paper on the 
walls was very beautiful. 

It was all soft yellows and browns and 
greens, and showed little garden gates set in bits 
of stone wall, with yellow roses climbing over 
the archways of the gates, and tree tops peeping 
above the walls. 

The paper had had to be cut up dreadfully 
to fit the tiny places left for it between windows 
and doors, but seven gateways had been left 
whole — three on each side of the door and one 
over it, and Bobbie admired them so much, and 
made up so many stories about the gardens that 
must lie behind, that one day he said out loud, 
“I’d just like to know who owns those seven 
little gardens in the wall!” 

And a pleasant little voice answered, right 


12 Stories of Gardens in the Wall 

away, “I do!” Bobby was so surprised he 
stared and stared. And no wonder. It was a 
surprising sort of thing to have happen! And 
more surprising still, he saw, sitting on the 
step of the garden over the door and leaning 
down towards him, a fairy lady! That is, she 
must have been a fairy she was so small, though 
not a wing could Bobby see. 

“You’ve been interested in my gardens a long 
time, haven’t you?” asked the Fairy Lady, 
beaming down on Bobby like a little sun. 

“Yes,” stammered Bobby. “I love them. 
They look as if they’d be such lovely places to 
play in.” 

“They are — but really they’re places to work 
in,” said the Fairy Lady. 

Bobby’s eyes opened wide. “Work?” he 
said. “Do you work? What do you do?” 

The Fairy Lady drew herself up proudly. 
“I,” she said, “I look after the troubles of little 
children.” 

“Oh,” cried Bobby, “I didn’t know anybody 
ever bothered about children’s troubles. Most 
folks don’t think they have any. My folks 
laugh at mine.” 

“I know it,” said the Fairy Lady. “That’s 
why I took the matter in hand. Children’s 


The Garden of Misunderstanding 13 


troubles do count. They’re as big for children 
as grown-ups’ troubles are for them. Every- 
thing is made to fit in this world. But nobody 
else bothered about them, so I thought I should. 
I’ve arranged these gardens, where I work to 
make the troubles lighter. Each garden is 
named for a trouble. Look at them.” 

Bobby looked, and saw what he had never 
seen before. Over each little gate shone a 
name, written in letters of green and gold elec- 
tric lights. To his great surprise, he found that 
he could read the little signs. 

“ ‘The Garden of Lonely Hours,’ ” spelled 
Bobby. “Oh, that’s one of my biggest troubles 
just now. ‘The Garden of Mistakes.’ I do 
make so many more with Aunt Lulu than I did 
with mother. ‘The Garden of After Dark.’ 
That’s a truly awful trouble. ‘The Garden of 
Rainy Days.’ I haven’t had those here yet. 
‘The Garden of Being Sick.’ Nor that trouble, 
either, though Aunt Lulu’s forever telling me 
1 will have it if I eat so much. ‘The Garden 
of Sulky Times.” Oh, dear me, I hate that 
trouble. ‘The Garden of Misunderstanding.’ ” 

“That last word is a long one, isn’t it?” asked 
the Fairy Lady. “But I consider that my most 
important garden.” 


14 Stories of Gardens in the Wall 

“Me, too,” said Bobby. And he sighed so 
deeply he nearly blew the Fairy Lady ofif her 
perch on the little step. “Aunt Lulu doesn’t 
understand me, lots of times. She didn’t just 
now. That’s why I came up here.” 

“Well,” said the Fairy Lady, “I don’t know 
of a better time to come in and see this garden 
then, do you? Want to come in?” 

“Oh, yes,” cried Bobby. 

The Garden of Misunderstanding happened 
to be the one on whose steps the little lady was 
sitting, and now she junpiped up, pushed open 
its little gate, and reaching down grasped 
Bobby by the hand and drew him up so that he 
stepped easily right over the big doorway, and 
straight into the wall.” 

“Umm — what a perfectly lovely place,” said 
Bobby, as he looked about him. “The trees are 
bigger and the roses prettier than I thought, 
and what nice little tables. Do you serve ice 
cream there?” 

“No,” said the Fairy Lady, with a twinkle in 
her eyes. “We serve lectures.” 

“Oh — oh, I don’t like them,” said Bobby. But 
the Fairy Lady laughed and kissed him. “Not 
for you,” she said, “or for any children at all. 
The lectures we serve here are for grown-ups.” 


The Garden of Misunderstanding 15 

“Not really? You wouldn’t dare,” said 
Bobby. And the Fairy Lady’s eyes danced as 
she said, “Why not? Just you come and see.” 

Bobby was very much excited. That grown- 
ups ever were scolded he just couldn’t believe. 

But pretty soon they came to a table at which 
sat a big, big man, with a little, little fairy per- 
son opposite him, and the man was squirming 
around as Bobby squirmed when he was scold- 
ed, and he was red as beets, and the fairy person 
was frowning and shaking a wee finger right 
under the big man’s nose — and that nose all 
alone was quite as big as all of the fairy person! 

“Oh, I want to hear,” said Bobby. 

“Then march right up,” the Fairy Lady told 
him. “The man won’t see you. He can’t. 
He’s enchanted.” 

So Bobby went close and listened. The fairy 
person was talking. “If you jump at your little 
boy again like that. I’ll jump at you,” the fairy 
person was saying. “Children mustn’t be yelled 
at like that. And you must learn to understand 
him. He didn’t mean to run away this morn- 
ing. He asked you where the rainbow came 
down to the earth, and you just laughed and 
told him to go and see. He’s only five, and you 
don’t let him say things that aren’t exactly true. 


16 Stories of Gardens in the Wall 

so he thought you meant it and he went. And 
you brought him back and yelled at him, and 
whipped him, and he’s crying hard because he’s 
hurt inside and out. It was all your fault. 
Aren’t you sorry?” 

^‘Yes,” said the big man, squirming; “but I’m 
very busy ” 

“So’s your little boy busy — busy growing 
up,” said the fairy person. “And it’s a big, 
important, hard job, too. You’ve got to take 
time to help him do it well, or you’ll be mighty 
sorry. Now you’ve got to be punished. I’m 
going to see that your conscience pricks and 
stings and hurts all day long — hard. Now you 
can go.” 

The wee fairy person waved the big man 
away, and he went, his head hanging, looking 
just as Bobby looked after a scolding. 

“Oh, mercy me — ^what a very strange place,” 
said Bobby. “I’m going to walk around some 
more.” And he did. 

There were lots of tables with grown-ups on 
one side and fairy persons on the other. Some 
of the grown-ups looked sad and sorry, some 
ashamed, a very few angry. He could hear 
lots promising to “try to be good,” just like 
little children! 


The Garden of Misunderstanding 17 

And then suddenly he came to a table where 
sat Aunt Lulu. And Aunt Lulu looked as if 
she’d been crying. At any rate, she was being 
very thoroughly scolded. 

“Just because you haven’t any little boys or 
girls of your own,” her fairy teacher was say- 
ing, “is no excuse for treating Bobby as you do. 
Of course, it was kind of you to look after him 
while his mother took his father away out West 
to get well. But you want to be very good to 
him while you have him. You don’t under- 
stand children? Then, for mercy’s sake, learn. 
You’ve got a brain, haven’t you? And a mem- 
ory? Can’t you remember when you were lit- 
tle? Bobby didn’t know how naughty it was 
to ask you how old you were before folks! He 
thought it was polite. Everybody asks him that. 
He thought it was a nice thing to say.” 

“Please — that’s true,” cried Bobby suddenly. 
“I didn’t mean to be bad. Aunt Lulu, and I 
love you lots, and I just won’t have you scolded 
any more.” 

Bobby rushed up and kissed Aunt Lulu 
harder than he had ever dared kiss her before, 
and she seemed to like it. 

“Very well,” said the fairy person, with a 
friendly smile at Bobby. “As Bobby’s forgiven 


18 Stories of Gardens in the Wall 

you, I will too. But see it doesn’t happen 
again.” 

“We’ll both try,” promised Bobby. And 
somehow the inside of the Garden of Misunder- 
standing seemed to fade and fade and fade, and 
Aunt Lulu’s arms grew very tight and warm 
about him, and there he was in the tower room 
again, with Aunt Lulu really hugging him, 
and the seven little garden gates smiling down 
from out their yellow roses — without a name 
printed over a single one of them. 

But Bobby understood fairy doings. “You’ll 
all be there when I need you. Good-bye,” he 
whispered, as Aunt Lulu, a nicer Aunt Lulu 
than he had ever known, carried him down 
stairs and let him pop corn over the library 
fire, while she told him stories. Bobby was 
sure he approved of the “Garden of Misunder- 
standing,” 


THE GARDEN OF RAINY DAYS 


“It’s just raining puppy dogs and kittens to- 
day,” Norah the cook had said as she gave 
Bobby his breakfast one morning. 

But though he kept his nose pressed tight to 
the window pane a long time, Bobby saw none 
of those interesting animals come down out of 
the sky, and at last, being lonely, he went up 
to the tower room. 

It was just the sort of day for the Fairy 
Lady, who looked after children’s troubles, to 
look after his. And, among those pretty little 
gardens whose gates were pictured in the tower 
room paper, hadn’t there been a Garden of 
Rainy Days? 

Bobby, facing the seven gates, asked the ques- 
tion out loud, and immediately one of the lower 
gates clicked open, and the Fairy Lady, who 
had shown him through the Garden of Mis- 
understanding, popped out. 

“This way,” she cried, “this way. Come 
right in, Bobby Preston, and see the place 
where we give lessons in making rainy days 
happy days.” 

Bobby didn’t like lessons very well, but some- 


20 Stories of Gardens in the Wall 

how the Fairy Lady had a new and happy way 
of saying the word that made it sound better 
than usual, and joyfully he took her little hand 
as she stretched it down to him, gave a long 
step up, and was inside the wall again — and 
inside one of the lovely, rose filled gardens. 

It was much like the Garden of Misunder- 
standing, except that here, instead of tables 
scattered under the trees, Bobby saw lines and 
lines of windows — just windows, sitting up all 
alone there without any wall about them, look- 
ing so odd and so funny! He glanced through 
one of them. “Why it’s raining in here, too,” 
cried Bobby. “I hoped it would be clear here.” 

“Clear in the Garden of Rainy Days? How 
could it be?” said the Fairy Lady. “It has to 
rain here, for it’s where we show children how 
to make rainy days happy days. We couldn’t 
do that in the sunshine.” 

“I ’spose not,” said Bobby, mournfully. He 
was doubtful. He had never enjoyed a rainy 
day yet. 

“Of course,” said the Fairy Lady briskly. 
“If you were big enough to read to yourself, 
there wouldn’t be so much trouble.” 

“I look at pictures a lot,” said Bobby. 

“What kind?” asked the Fairy Lady. 


The Garden of Rainy Days 


21 


“Mercy me, don’t stare so! You mean in a 
book, don’t you? I thought so. You come 
with me. I’ll show you some pictures.” 

Bobby followed her right out into the rain, 
which, strange to say, didn’t wet him at all, 
and she led him to one of the windows, v 
“Look,” she said. 

“Why,” cried Bobby, “it must be the library 
window. I can see straight down the garden 
path.” 

“Yes,” said the Fairy Lady, “but what do 
you see?” Bobby gave a little twisty sort of 
grin. “I see, he answered, “lots of rain slop- 
ping down out of the sky, and making the rose 
bushes cry just as hard as I’d like to.” 

“Oh, nonsense — what a way for a boy to 
talk,” cried the Fairy Lady. “Look again — 
don’t you see any rainy day friends?” 

“Rainy day friends? Where?” Bobby was 
looking interested now. “Watch,” said the 
Fairy Lady. And as she said it, a great, solemn 
toad hopped — plunkity plunk, plunkity plunk 
— into the center of the garden path, and sat 
there, blinking and winking up at Bobby. 
Bobby giggled. 

“Hello, Mr. Toad,” he said. “Won’t your 
mother spank you if she knows you’re out with- 
out your rubbers?” 


22 Stories of Gardens in the Wall 

Mr. Toad winked again, turned his back 
and hopped off, Bobby watched him out of 
sight, and then, looking straight down under 
the window, he found a snail, creeping along 
in a slow, dignified way, with his little house 
balanced on his back. 

‘^Oh — funny!’’ cried Bobby. “If I could 
carry my house about like that, I could go just 
anywhere, couldn’t I? Hello, Mr. Snail! 
Where’re you going?” And Bobby drummed 
hard on the window. 

Mr. Snail stopped, crawled hurriedly inside 
his house, and then peeked out the front door 
to see who was making the racket. It certainly 
was a shame if a quiet, gentlemanly snail per- 
son couldn’t go about on rainy days without 
being bothered. But as soon as he saw Bobby 
was safe behind a window, he came out, picked 
up his house and went on, while Bobby laughed 
with delight. 

Then the Fairy Lady taught him how to 
watch the flowers, dancing in the rain, tossing 
themselves here and there, nodding together, 
calling to the wind, playing with it when it 
came to them, drinking up the drops of water 
as fast ever they could. 

Bobby suddenly found that he was having 


The Garden of Rainy Days 


23 


a very good time. “But,” he said, “this is a 
rainy day at Aunt Lulu’s. At home there aren’t 
any such things to watch.” 

“But there are other things,” said the Fairy 
Lady quickly. “Look here.” And with one 
step Bobby stood before one of his own home 
windows, looking down into a rainy city street! 

“Watch now,” said the Fairy Lady. “Isn’t 
it fun to see the rain drops splash down on the 
pavements? And to watch the funny ways 
people carry their umbrellas, and dodge the 
puddles? And to see the swish of water that 
goes up like a fountain when an automobile 
comes along? And to look for the little spurt, 
spurt, spurt, whenever a horse’s hoof hit the 
wet pavement? Why, there are just stacks of 
interesting rainy day things to watch in town.” 

“Oh, not always,” said Bobby, so disgusted 
with himself for not finding all this out alone, 
that he wanted to show the Fairy Lady she 
wasn’t always right. “Just suppose you didn’t 
have a thing in the world to look out at but a 
bare wall? I know a poor little boy who hasn’t 
another thing but that outside his window.” 

“I know — here it is,” and with another step 
Bobby stood by the very window. Truly that 
Garden of Rainy Days was a wonderful place! 


24 Stories of Gardens in the W all 

There, indeed, was the wall. Bobby almost 
said, “I told you so,” but was glad next moment 
he hadn’t, for the Fairy Lady began, “You 
can see the rain so very plainly against a wall. 
See how pretty it is. And it makes the wall 
so shiny, it’s like a looking-glass. And just 
watch how it trickles down — what funny little 
rivers it makes. And sometimes it draws pictures 
on the bricks. There’s a trickle that’s drawing a 
little girl’s head. Watch — now it’s running off 
along that crack, and so really making a ribbon 
on the end of her braid of hair! And let’s see 
which of the two little streams that have started 
from the edge of that broken brick will get out 
of sight first. I think the left hand one will.” 

“Oh, no, no — the right hand one — see it go — • 
there — it’s left behind — no, it’s winning — it’s 
won!” Bobby was as excited and as happy as 
could be. The Fairy Lady looked at him and 
smiled. 

“Some fun, even in a blank wall, if you 
know how to find it, isn’t there?” she asked. 

“The Garden of Rainy Days has put one 
trouble out of your life forever, hasn’t it? You 
won’t need to come here any more.” 

“But I want to come again, come often,” 
cried Bobby. 


The Garden of Rainy Days 25 

^‘One trip to each of my gardens is enough — 
or ought to be/’ said the Fairy Lady. ^‘Good- 
bye for this time, Bobby.” 

Bobby didn’t seem to walk, nor run. Yet the 
wet trees of the garden hurried past him, nod- 
ding him good-bye with their big, rainy-heavy 
branches. The yellow roses smiled and flirted 
little drops of water at him as he went by. Fairy 
Folk, and other children, coming in to learn 
about rainy day happiness, smiled and waved 
at him. Before he knew it, Bobby was back in 
the little tower room, with the gate of the Gar- 
den of Rainy Days shut tight. Now it was just 
a picture on the wall paper, but Bobby, running 
straight to the window, saw, when the rain drops 
hit the maple leaves apart, that he could look 
straight into the home of a robin family. 

“How nice,” said Bobby. And he smiled at 
Mrs. Robin so happily that she seemed to smile 
back at him, and not be afraid of him one bit. 

“The Garden of Rainy Days is the best place 
ever,” said Bobby. 


THE GARDEN OF BEING SICK 


“Aunt Lulu,” said Bobby Preston, his big 
blue eyes very earnest, “if IVe got to be truly 
sick with this horrid cold, can’t I please be sick 
up in the little tower room?” 

“Why, Bobby,” said Aunt Lulu, “it’s not so big 
as your own room, nor so comfortable, nor ” 

“But it’s so nice. Aunt Lulu. I love the big 
windows, and the wall paper is so beautiful. 
Please put me to bed there.” 

Aunt Lulu laughed. “You’re a funny little 
tad, Bobby,” she said. “But. the tower room is 
as near mine as your own, so come along. 
You’ll have to stay in bed, you know. One 
whole day, at least.” 

“Yes’m,” said Bobby, so meekly Aunt Lulu 
thought he must be very sick indeed, and was 
worried. But as she undressed him in the 
tower room she thought it was rather a nice 
place in which to be sick. 

The four windows let you see so much of 
the world outside, and the paper was pretty — 
all green and gold and brown, showing little 
garden gates, set in bits of stone wall, with 
trees and yellow roses. 


The Garden of Being Sick 27 

‘^ni come read to you as soon as I can, 
Bobby,” she said, as she tucked him in. “But 
till then, play you’re inside those pretty little 
wall gardens there.” 

“I don’t have to play that. Aunt Lulu,” said 
Bobby. And no sooner had she gone, wonder- 
ing what Bobby could have meant, than he 
reached out both arms. 

“Fairy Lady,” he called, “please dear. Fairy 
Lady, you who look after the troubles of chil- 
dren, can I go into the Garden of Being Sick 
today? Being sick is such a big trouble for a 
boy. Won’t you help me?” 

Click! Open flew the lowest of the gates — 
one right by the foot of the bed. “The Garden 
of Being Sick” flashed out in lovely green and 
gold electric letters about it, and a breath of 
sweet, cool air rushed out that felt delicious on 
Bobby’s hot little face. 

“Here I am,” said the Fairy Lady. “No 
child in trouble ever really wanted me that I 
didn’t come to help. Now, Aunt Lulu has said, 
‘Stay in bed,’ so of course in bed you must stay. 
But don’t look so mournful, Bobby. Watch me.” 

She put her little hands upon the bed, and — 
it moved! She wheeled it, Bobby and all, right 
into the heart of her garden! 


28 Stories of Gardens in the Wall 

Bobby gave a great sigh of delight. It was 
the prettiest garden yet. All sunlight and flow- 
ers, with lots of other beds, all having children 
in them, scattered about, and fairies flying here 
and there, like butterflies in the sun. 

The Fairy Lady called one of the fairies to 
her and whispered something. “Another case for 
me?” said the fairy. “Certainly. I’ll make him 
happy — I’ll show him how to do it. Yes, ma’am.” 

The fairy saluted like a soldier, and with a 
“Good-bye, Bobby — I’m very busy today, but 
you’ll be safe,” the Fairy Lady hurried off. 

The Fairy Person left in charge curled up on 
the pillow, small chin on small hand, and 
asked, “What is hardest for you in being sick?” 

“Taking my medicine,” answered Bobby 
promptly. 

“Yes. What else?” 

“Oh — just being good, I guess.” 

The Fairy Person leaned over and patted 
Bobby’s cheek. “You’re a fine boy,” she said. 
“At least, you know what’s the matter with you ! 
What do you want to be when you grow up?” 

It was a funny question to ask a sick boy! 

“Why,” said Bobby, “I want to be a police- 
man or a fireman or a soldier — something big 
and strong and brave.” 


29 


The Garden of Being Sick 

“Be it now — this minute!” said the fairy. 

“How?” and Bobby looked surprised, also 
interested. 

“Just play,” said the fairy, “that being sick is 
a battle. A big fight. It is, of course. You’re 
fighting your cold, aren’t you? Well, can’t you 
be a hero doing it? Mercy me, you don’t think 
all the heroes have to do big things to be heroes, 
do you? You can be a regular hero right here. 
See — you can pretend that your bed is your 
tent! The doctor is the general, and your Aunt 
Lulu is your captain, the cold is the enemy, and 
your medicine is your shot and shell — your 
ammunition. 

“Every time you take your medicine nicely, 
you’ve won a battle! When you lie good and 
quiet, with the clothes right up to your chin, 
as you don’t want to lie, you’re a hero, lying 
out in the woods somewhere to pitch onto your 
enemy when he comes sneaking up, and beat 
him. No cold can beat a boy who stays all 
covered up! Every time you gargle your throat 
you’re a hero, leading a whole regiment into 
battle — a regiment of medicine against a regi- 
ment of germs — and beating, too.” 

“What a perfectly scrumptuous way to think 
about it,” cried Bobby. “Do grown-ups know 


30 Stories of Gardens in the Wall 

about being brave in quiet ways — by just keep- 
ing still?” 

“Indeed they do,” said the fairy. They 
have to do it lots and lots of times.” 

“Then there are heroes all around me?” 
asked Bobby, looking as if he expected to see 
a row of big soldiers standing there among the 
yellow roses of the Garden of Being Sick. 

“There are! Come and see. We’re making 
heroes here.” And the fairy put out a tiny 
hand and wheeled Bobby’s bed up and down 
the paths of the garden, past beds and cribs and 
even bassinettes. Evidently very little babies 
came to learn how to be sick bravely. 

On every bed was a fairy, and everywhere 
were smiles. 

Other children called to Bobby, and asked 
him how many battles he had fought, and he 
asked them if they always won, and when any- 
body had to take medicine, and did it nicely, 
there was a great cheering and the fairies 
would call out, “Another hero — folks always 
win battles who are brave, and try!” Bobby 
admired all those soldier children very much, 
and felt big and brave, though inside he won- 
dered he could do so well, and then suddenly 
he had a chance to find out — it came his turn. 


31 


The Garden of Being Sick 

Somebody touched him on the shoulder and 
said, “Sorry, dear, but it’s medicine time. 
Now, open wide — don’t stop to taste — just swal- 
low.” The Garden of Being Sick, with its 
golden sunshine and yellow roses, its trees and 
fairies and other children, had gone. Bobby 
was back in the tower room, and Aunt Lulu 
was beside him, looking anxious and a little sad. 

“All right,” said Bobby, cheerfully; “I’m 
going to fight this battle and I’m going to win. 
Captain. You see. Aunt Lulu, I’m a soldier, 
and my cold is the enemy.” 

“What a fine idea,” said Aunt Lulu. “Now, 
then — why, it went down, every drop, didn’t it? 
Good boy. You’re not only a soldier, Bobby, 
dear; you’re a hero! At this rate you’ll be well 
before you know it. Now I’ll read you the 
longest, nicest story I can find, to reward you.” 

And so she did. But Bobby liked best the 
things she had said about him. They showed 
so plainly that the fairy who looked after the 
troubles of children in her seven pretty gardens 
on the wall, knew what she was talking about, 
and how to help her children. 


THE GARDEN OF AFTER DARK 


Bobby Preston lay in his warm little bed in 
his pretty room at Aunt Lulu’s, and shook and 
shivered, and almost cried! 

Aunt Lulu and Uncle Austin had gone out 
to a party. Norah and Minnie were having a 
party of their own in the kitchen. It was bed 
time — but Bobby, though in bed, could not go 
to sleep. The trouble was that no one was 
near him — and the room was very dark! 

Bobby got colder and colder, though he 
knew he had covers enough. When he began 
to shake, he knew what was the matter, if he 
hadn’t known before. He was frightened. He 
was afraid of the dark! 

With one leap Bobby was out of his bed, 
flying along the hall, into the tower room. 

“Oh, Fairy Lady, my dear Fairy Lady, who 
helps cure the troubles of little children won’t 
you please come out of the wall and take me 
into the Garden of After Dark”? he cried. “I 
do so need to know how not to be frightened 
after dark.” 

All of a sudden it was n’t dark in the room. 
Over all the pretty garden gates pictured in 


The Garden of After Dark 33 

the wall paper of the tower room, glowed 
green and gold lights, showing the names of 
the gardens. And from under the letters that 
spelled “The Garden of After Dark” stepped 
the Fairy Lady Bobby loved so well, gathered 
him up in her arms, kissed him, comforted 
him, and then — took him inside the Garden of 
After Dark and shut the gate tight behind him. 

“Oh, oh, oh,” cried Bobby. “It’s dark as it 
can be here. Oh, it’s darker than it was in my 
room. I hoped it would be light!” , 

A sweet, soft voice Bobby had never heard 
before began to laugh. Other sweet, soft 
voices laughed, too. Bobby heard them all 
about him, but not a thing could he see. Never 
had he known such darkness! 

“I want light,” cried Bobby. “Lots of light — 
quick!” 

“Mercy me,” said the first voice. “You 
couldn’t have light in the Garden of After 
Dark! That would be silly, wouldn’t it? And 
not a bit of fun, either.” 

“I don’t think it’s much fun this way,” said 
Bobby. “Can’t you turn on one teensy tonsy 
star, or light a teenie weenie candle?” 

“Never!” said the soft voice. “Why, where 
would we night fairies fly to? The dark is our 


34 Stories of Gardens in the Wall 

home, and we love it. The nice, soft, sweet 
dark. The dark that soothes you off to slum- 
ber land. The dark that rests tired eyes. The 
dark that takes care of you while you sleep. 
The dark that has dreams to entertain you, and 
sleep to make you strong and well and happy. 
Oh, we’re wise — we love the dark, for we know 
how much it does for everybody, and what a 
dreadful time we’d have without it.” 

“I never thought about all that,” said Bobby, 
slowly. 

“No — of course you didn’t. Boys and girls 
are apt to be very stupid. Why, the darker 
your room is, the better you sleep, for the 
darker it is, the more night fairies come in to 
cool your pillow and smooth your sheets, and 
see that your dreams are pleasant ones. When 
children are afraid in the dark, and say they 
must have lights in their rooms, the night 
fairies can’t get in at all, to press close around 
you and guard you.” 

“I — I — never thought about there being fai- 
ries in the dark,” said Bobby. 

“Of course not, silly. You thought there 
were big black bears and things, didn’t you? 
Well, there aren’t — except in your own foolish 
little head. Now then — you’re in bed again” — 


The Garden of After Dark 


35 


and Bobby was — ‘‘Now can you feel the soft 
breath of our wings on your face? Now, can 
you hear the dreams we’re whispering in your 
ear? Now, do you notice how very, very com- 
fortable we’re making you?” 

“Yes, I do,” said Bobby. And he cuddled 
down happily. 

“Well, then,” said the little voice, “you’ll 
promise to remember always we’re here, and 
not a nasty bad thing can touch you while we 
are?” 

“I’ll try,” said Bobby. 

There was a clapping of tiny hands, but 
Bobby sat up in bed again. 

“See here,” he said, “that’s not everything. 
I’m not only afraid in bed; I’m afraid to go 
into the dark alone while I’m up and dressed. 
I hate to walk in a dark hall, or go into a 
dark room.” 

“Why,” cried the little voice, “getting over 
that is just a great big game. Don’t you like 
to play games?” 

“Of course I do,” said Bobby. “Like to 
play Indian?” asked the fairy. 

“The very best of all the games I play,” said 
Bobby. 

“Well, Indians aren’t afraid of the dark. 


36 Stories of Gardens in the Wall 

They could go anywhere in it, and go with- 
out making a bit of noise, either. You must 
play you’re an Indian. Let’s play it now?” 

“All right,” cried Bobby. And in a jiffy he 
was out of bed again on the floor. “But — ” he 
cried, “I don’t know my way around the Gar- 
den of After Dark at all.” 

“Learn it — that’s the game!” cried the little 
voice, gleefully. “While you’re learning to go 
in the dark, we fairies will look after you to 
see you get no bumps. So go bravely, but 
carefully. Come” — the little voice sunk to a 
mysterious whisper. “We are in a deep, dark 
wood. The tribe with whom we are at war is 
camping on the right, down by the stream. We 
must slip by them in the dark. Not a leaf 
must move.” 

Bobby crept forward carefully. It almost 
seemed to him as if he really was in a deep 
forest. He could almost smell the earth, and 
feel the moss beneath his feet, the tree trunks 
under his fingers. And — it was fun, and he 
wasn’t afraid! Fun to see how far he could 
go without stumbling into anything — though 
when he did stumble, it did him no harm, for 
this time the night fairies were helping him, 
and seeing that the bruises didn’t hurt. Fun 


The Garden of After Dark 37 

to creep about, and know he was going so 
quietly he couldn’t be heard — so deep in dark- 
ness he couldn’t be seen. 

Pretty soon he found that he was growing 
quite skillful at “feeling” when there were 
things in his way. He couldn’t tell what he 
meant in any other way. Of course he couldn’t 
see things, and he didn’t have to touch them, 
before he just knew they were there 1 

“It’s fine to know how to get about in the 
dark,” said the little voice. “And you’re learn- 
ing beautifully. Now — go on by yourself, and 
remember we won’t look after the bumps any 
longer.” 

But when Bobby had pretended Indian all 
around the garden, and gone as quietly as could 
be everywhere, without being scared a bit — lo 
and behold! there weren’t any bumps any 
longer. 

“You’ve learned,” cried the little voice. “It’s 
all right — you’ll get on beautifully after this. 
You’ll sleep in the dark, because you’ll know 
we’re there. You can go about in the dark, 
because you’ve learned how. Three cheers for 
Bobby.” 

The cheers came, and then Bobby heard the 
Fairy Lady who owned the seven wall gardens 


38 Stories of Gardens in the Wall 

say, “He’s earned a sight of the garden. Cover 
your faces, you little dark fairies, so the light 
won’t hurt your eyes.” 

Suddenly there was a soft, golden glow that 
lit up the Garden of After Dark. Bobby saw 
it came from hundreds of fireflies swinging up 
in the trees. There were the yellow roses and 
the trees, just as he had seen them in the other 
little wall gardens, and flitting everywhere, 
among the tree trunks, up in the branches, down 
among the roses, were hundreds and hundreds 
of little dark forms, with soft, black, gauzy 
wings — the fairies of the night. 

“Oh, how beautiful!” said Bobby, softly. “It 
is truly the best yet.” 

“Isn’t it?” said the Fairy Lady. “I think 
my Garden of After Dark is the loveliest gar- 
den I have. And it is so restful, too.” 

“I like it,” said Bobby. “And oh my, but 
it is a very helpful garden.” 

He heard a little laugh, the softly glowing 
lights went out, the latch of a gate clicked shut, 
and — Bobby stood in the tower room, all alone, 
and it was very dark! 

But care? He never cared a bit. “It’ll be 
fun to see if I can get back to my room with- 
out a bump,” said Bobby. “I ought to do it. 


The Garden of After Dark 39 

I know every step of the way. Hum — heap 
big Injun, me!” 

And very carefully the “heap big Injun,” 
with his tousled yellow head and his little pink 
sleeping suit, pattered back along the big dark 
hall. 

“I did it,” said Bobby, as he snuggled down 
in bed. “Not a single sign of a bump. Hur- 
rah for the Garden of After Dark! Come, 
fairies — Fm ready to be smoothed and tended 
and all the rest of it.” 

And Bobby Preston went sound asleep in a 
second. 


THE GARDEN OF SULKY TIMES 


Things had gone very badly with little Bobby 
Preston, from the minute he woke up in the 
morning. He had stubbed his toe getting out 
of bed and slid about in his bath so that he 
splashed the bathroom all up and had to be 
scolded. He got both stockings on wrong 
side out, by a slip of the hand slopped all the 
sugar off his oatmeal when he poured on the 
cream, and had burst the strap of his roller 
skates and got a bad tumble, not five feet from 
the kitchen door! 

No wonder he felt that it was a sad world. 
He couldn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t 
think so and say so, and he was very much sur- 
prised and hurt when Norah, his greatest 
friend at Aunt Lulu’s, said, ‘‘Aw then, Bobby, 
run away with you and sulk it out by yourself. 
It was the wrong side of the bed you got out 
of this morning.” 

“It wasn’t,” said Bobby. “It couldn’t have 
been. I always get out of the very same side of 
the bed on purpose, so folks can’t tell me that.” 

But Norah just laughed and waved him out 
of the kitchen, and Aunt Lulu, meeting him. 


The Garden of Sulky Times 41 

said, “My, my, what a face! Aren’t you well, 
Bobby? Do you need medicine?” 

“No — oh, no,” said Bobby, and ran. But he 
wasn’t going off to “sulk it out by himself.” 
He was going to a person who would help him, 
if he really needed help. 

He climbed the stairs to the little tower 
room, went in, shut the door, and stood look- 
ing up at the pretty pictured garden gates upon 
the wall paper. 

“Fairy Lady,” said Bobby, “I’m not sulky. 
It’s just that every one thinks I am, and nothing 
goes right today. But isn’t there one of your 
little magic gardens I could go into for a while?” 

Click! Open flew one of the little gates, and 
the tiny Fairy Lady came out and stood under 
the arch of yellow roses, looking hard at Bobby. 

“Hu-u-m-m-m!” said the Fairy Lady, pres- 
ently. “Come right in here.” And Bobby saw 
to his surprise that the green and gold letters 
over the garden spelled “The Garden of Sulky 
Times.” He could read the names of the gar- 
dens well enough to know that. 

“But I’m not sulky,” cried Bobby. “I’m not. 
I don’t want you to call me things I’m not.” 

“Very well — very well,” said the Fairy 
Lady. “Only come in and let me close the 


42 Stories of Gardens in the Wall 

door. What if your Aunt Lulu should come 
by, and see a door in her wall open? What 
ever would she say?” And Bobby found him- 
self inside the Garden of Sulky Times before 
he could say Jack Robinson! 

And no sooner was he inside than he began 
to laugh! For the whole place was alive with 
little dancing mirrors! They hung on the trees 
like fruit. They grew on the bushes like flow- 
ers. They lay on the grass, looking like huge 
dewdrops, or tiny, tiny pools of water. They 
lined the paths, and the garden wall was quite 
covered with them. 

“How pretty they are!” cried Bobby, as he 
watched all the mirrors dancing in the sunlight. 
“Why, somehow they make the whole place 
look as if it was laughing.” Then suddenly he 
saw himself in one of the nearest mirrors. 

“And I am laughing,” said Bobby. “Why 
has everybody called me sulky all day? Just 
look at me — don’t I look like a happy boy?” 

“Yes — now,” said the Fairy Lady. “But 
wait a bit. Why do you think I have so many 
mirrors here?” 

“Oh — ’cause they’re pretty?” asked Bobby. 

“No — though of course they are. But they 
are a part of the cure.” 


The Garden of Sulky Times 


43 


^‘Cure! What cure?” asked Bobby, looking 
suspiciously at the merry little mirrors, flash 
ing in the sun. 

“Why, my cure for the sulks, of course,” 
said the Fairy Lady. “You know which of my 
trouble gardens you are in well enough. You 
don’t look sulky now. People very seldom do 
who have been in here any time at all. But — 
these are magic mirrors. They, all of them, 
keep, for an hour or two, the pictures of faces 
that they have reflected. Go back, nearer the 
gate, and look at the little mirrors that faced 
you as you came in.” 

Bobby, curious as could be, and not quite 
understanding, went back, and picked up a 
mirror that hung from the limb of a tree, ex- 
actly opposite the gate. 

He looked at it, and then he grew very, very 
red. 

“Well?” asked the Fairy Lady. 

“My,” cried Bobby honestly, “I did look 
cross, didn’t I? Cross enough to eat anybody 
up! Goodness, how my mouth turned down, 
and what a horrid scowl I had. Why — why, 
Fm so sulky in that mirror there, Fm really 
funny.” And looking at his own naughty 
face, Bobby began to laugh. 


44 Stories of Gardens in the Wall 

“Exactly,” said the Fairy Lady. “My cure’s 
working on you, you see. If most of us could 
just see ourselves when we get angry or sulky 
or cross, why we’d un-scowl our faces as 
quickly as we could. Some of us would be too 
vain to look like that, for it certainly does spoil 
a person’s looks to be cross. And some would 
be ashamed. And some would laugh at them- 
selves, as you did. Feeling better?” 

“Oh my, yes,” said Bobby. “Take me 
around. Let me see the mirror cure work on 
other children.” 

“All right,” said the Fairy Lady. “Wait — 
quiet — you’ll see it work right now.” 

Down the path towards them was coming a 
little girl. Oh, such a pouty, haughty little 
girl! She looked as if she might have been 
pretty, before her face got so twisted up, but 
she certainly was a very homely youngster now! 

“I don’t care,” she kept saying, “I just don’t 
care! I’ll do as I please and go where I please, 
and hate everybody, so there!” 

And suddenly, without a word of warning, 
she just flopped flat down on the grass and 
began to cry and to kick, and to carry on in a 
perfectly dreadful manner! 

But — she had fallen right before a mirror- — 


The Garden of Sulky Times 45 

almost right on top of it! She couldn’t have 
helped looking in that mirror if she had tried. 
Bobby almost thought that the mirror, all by 
itself, rose a little, and tilted a little, so she 
could see herself better. 

At any rate, see herself she did. And for a 
minute she stared and stared, then suddenly 
cried, “I won’t look like that — I just won’t.” 
And then, as the mirror kept getting right in 
her way, and she saw she still looked queer, 
she began to try how a smile would go, and the 
little bit of a one she put on looked so very 
well, she tried a better, bigger one, and the first 
thing she knew she was laughing, and as pretty 
as could be, and ran away, holding the mirror 
before her face and smiling at herself. 

Then, before Bobby had walked very far in 
among the wonderful mirrors, he saw a boy 
coming towards him, bawling. Really that was 
the only way to say it. He was bawling! His 
mouth was stretched wide open, and his head 
thrown back, and his mouth seemed to push up 
his nose till it was nothing but a funny button, 
and his eyes were almost shut, and the tears 
were trickling down over two queer, wrinkled- 
up cheeks — oh, he was a strange looking sight, 
and he was making a truly awful noise, too! 


46 Stories of Gardens in the W all 

You’d have thought, to look at him, that he 
couldn’t see a thing, so tight shut were his 
eyes. But suddenly a mirror bobbed right 
down out of nowhere, and swung itself in front 
of him, and the boy saw himself! 

He stopped yelling. It just seemed as if his 
yell froze tight up in his throat. And for a 
minute Bobby thought his face had frozen open, 
just as it was, too. For it didn’t change a bit — ■ 
the boy just kept still and looked and looked, 
until suddenly he burst out laughing. And he 
laughed as hard as he had bawled, and his face 
was twisted up just as much, but in quite 
another way. It looked jolly this time, and 
pleasant, and really handsome! 

“Oh ginger,” said the boy, “do I look like 
that when I howl? My, but I was funny. No 
wonder folks laugh at me, and try to make me 
howl harder. I’m ’most six, anyhow. Too big 
to howl like that. I guess I’ll stop doing it. 
What a sight I was.” And chuckling and gig- 
gling to himself, the boy ran off, looking like 
another person, while the mirror, with the pic- 
ture of his howling face still on it, hung there 
in the air a bit longer for Bobby to laugh at. 
He laughed, but looked worried, too. 

“They don’t hold the pictures very long, do 


The Garden of Sulky Times 47 

they?” he asked. “You don’t suppose my sulky 
face is hanging around for someone to make 
fun of, do you?” 

“Oh, no,” said the Fairy Lady. “Not now. 
That picture has faded. But be careful. If 
my mirrors reflect too many sulky times, why 
after awhile the bad pictures will stick, and 
no one can wipe them away, and people will 
get so they know you best with your sulky face 
and remember you that way always.” 

“Oh my, how horrid,” said Bobby. “Fm not 
going to spoil any of your pretty mirrors that 
way myself. I wonder if Norah and Aunty 
are remembering me with the horrid face now? 
Guess ril run and show ’em how nice I can 
look. Good-bye, Fairy Lady — thank you again.” 

And Bobby ran out of the garden, into the 
tower room, and so down to show Aunt Lulu 
and Norah his laughing face. 

“And I think,” decided Bobby wisely, “that 
after this, when I want to howl or sulk. I’ll run 
straight for a mirror. Then I can’t help stop- 
ping, I’ll look so homely, or so funny. I’ll just 
have to change my face.” 

And Bobby was almost sure he heard the 
voice of his own Fairy Lady cry “Hooray!” 


THE GARDEN OF LONELY HOURS 


‘‘Run away, Bobsy, Fm busy. Go play with 
your new train.” That was what Aunt Lulu said. 

“Run off, now, Bobby, me man — IVe me 
kitchen to scrub and the lunch to get. Go read 
a book like a good boy.” That was Norah. 

“But Fm not a good boy,” said Bobby hope- 
fully. Norah laughed. “Then pretend you 
are,” she said, pinning up her skirts and getting 
out a fresh cake of soap. Poor Bobby went 
slowly away. 

He did not want toy trains or picture books. 
He wanted people! There were so few people 
at Aunt Lulu’s. At home there were lots. 

Besides mother and their Norah, who was 
named Annie, there were two little girls next 
door, and a nice friendly lady who told stories, 
upstairs, and a big nine-year-old boy, very good 
about playing with smaller boys, across the way, 
the janitor’s four children, good friends every 
one, and near by a delightful baby, with grand- 
parents ready to play they were grandfather and 
grandmother to all the boys in the neighborhood 
at any time they were called upon to do it. 

Of course. Aunt Lulu’s great yard was a 


The Garden of Lonely Hours 49 

wonderful place to play. Much better than the 
little square of grass they called “the yard” at 
home, in the city. But — to play anywhere 
alone, isn’t a great deal of fun, as Bobby had 
found during his visit. 

He wandered out into the garden now, but 
the very rose bushes looked lonely, until one, 
with yellow flowers on it, reminded him of 
something. 

“I know,” cried Bobby. “There was a Gar- 
den of Lonely Hours in that lot of dear little 
gardens in the wall of the tower room. I won- 
der if the nice Fairy Lady would let me in 
there today? I need it — I need it lots. I’m — 
why. I’m almost crying! I must hurry,” and 
with a sniff, Bobby hurried across the lawn, 
into the house and up the stairs to the little 
tower room he so loved. 

“Fairy Lady,” he cried, as he faced the seven 
little gates pictured on the paper, “oh, my dear 
dear Fairy Lady, I am such a lonely boy today. 
Haven’t you got a Garden of Lonely Hours 
there, and won’t you please let me into it right 
away — before I get to crying?” 

Pop ! Open flew a gate I Swish ! Out hurried 
the pretty Fairy Lady, who made it her business 
to look after the troubles of little children. 


50 


Stories of Gardens in the Wall 

She put her arms around Bobby’s neck — as 
far as such short arms could reach — and hur- 
ried him inside of the Garden of Lonely Hours, 
as fast as he could go. 

“There, now,” she said, plumping him down 
in the coziest hammock he had ever known. 
“Be lonely if you dare,” and she smiled and 
kissed him. 

“I couldn’t, with you here,” said Bobby. 
“But oh, do look at the children. Did ever 
anybody see so many? All sorts, aren’t there?” 

“Yes, and you see all ages, too,” said the 
Fairy Lady. “Now then, think hard — what kind 
of children would you like to have to play with?” 

Bobby thought very hard, and as he thought, 
why the very three boys he had imagined, ran 
out from the crowd of other children, and stood 
there facing him! 

“Oh 1” cried Bobby in delight, “I’d like to play 
with those boys, please. What are their names?” 

“What names do you like best?” asked the 
Fairy Lady. 

“Hurh,” said Bobby, “I think Jim is a very 
nice name for a boy. And Pat. Pat is the 
name of our policeman, and I want to be big 
like him, some day. And father’s name is Stan- 
ley, so that’s a favorite of mine, too, you see.” 


The Garden of Lonely Hours 51 

“Well, well,” said the Fairy Lady. “That 
smallest boy is Jim, and the biggest is Pat, and 
the best looking one is Stanley! I’ll call them 
over and introduce them to you.” 

Bobby grew red with excitement and pleas- 
ure as the three boys came over. “Now then,” 
said the Fairy Lady, “I’ve introduced you — 
have a good time together. I’m busy. Good 
morning.” And off she went. 

The fun began right away. Bobby thought 
there never were such good friends known any- 
where. They were so obliging! 

Whatever he wanted to play, they played. 
Whatever he wished to do, was done. They 
did not quarrel and they did not “boss.” When 
they all played soldier, nobody said a word 
against Bobby’s being General right along, till 
Bobby himself gave the others a try at it, because 
he did not want to be outdone in unselfishness. 

Bobby was having the best time he ever had 
had, but still he took a few minutes now and 
then, to look at the other good times going on 
around him, and to notice that other boys and 
girls were the centers of other little groups, 
as he was the center of his. 

“My goodness,” said Bobby at last, “every- 
body does seem to be having such awfully good 


52 Stories of Gardens in the Wall 

times here. Why can’t the Garden of Lonely 
Hours just stay open all the time, so that lonely 
children can come in here and find playmates 
whenever they please?” 

“It is — and they can — if they learn how,” 
said Stanley, taking the point of his sword away 
from the breast of Pat, who had just been taken 
prisoner for the tenth time. 

“It’s right up to you whether you keep on 
knowing us or not,” said Jim. “We’ll always 
be here, just as we are today, and always ready 
to play, if you want us.” 

“Of course I’ll want you,” cried Bobby. 
“But how do I get you?” 

“Why, just by thinking about us, as you did 
today,” said Stanley. “You made us today, by 
thinking of us, and you can get us again the 
same way whenever you choose — why, Bobby, 
what’s wrong? You know we aren’t real, don’t 
you? Don’t be scared. Didn’t you know we 
were just pretend boys, that you made to order 
all by yourself?” 

“No,” cried Bobby, “oh no — I want you 
real.” There were tears in his eyes. He tried 
to wink them away, but he couldn’t. 

Stanley and Pat and Jim looked at each 
other, and then Pat ran off and came back with 
the Fairy Lady. 


The Garden of Lonely Hours 53 

She went straight to Bobby’s shoulder, and sat 
there, patting his cheek kindly, till he felt better. 

“There, there,” she said, “I’m surprised at 
you, Bobby. I never thought you’d be any- 
thing but pleased at the way I run my Garden 
of Lonely Hours. I thought you’d understand. 
You see, dear, none of the boys and girls who 
live here are real, and real children only come 
here once, as you have, to learn to know the 
others, and how to find them when they are 
lonely. My children are not real children, 
though every one of them lives in the thoughts of 
some lonely little boy or girl, and is happy at liv- 
ing so, and at helping the child who needs them. 

“The dream children stay here in my garden, 
always just as you’ve made them in your 
thoughts, and when you want them, they run 
straight to play with you, as they have today, 
and when you are through with them, back they 
come, to live with me till next time. 

“You can’t touch them. Other people can’t see 
them. But they may seem very real to you, dear. 
Aren’t they better than no playmates at all PWon’t 
they help you through many lonely hours?” 

“Yes — why, yes, of course,” said Bobby, smil- 
ing through his tears. “I guess I was just sur- 
prised, and didn’t quite understand. It’s fine 


54 Stories of Gardens in the Wall 

to think they’re my boys — all mine, just as I 
thought them. I like ’em, and I’m glad I can 
have ’em just by wishing.” 

“You’re sure you really want us?” asked 
Stanley, and when Bobby said, “Sure!” the 
three gave a whoop of joy, and danced about 
him. Then Bobby looked at the other groups 
about him. He could see now plainly the chil- 
dren that were like himself, and tell which 
were their dream companions. 

“I’d like to meet some of the other play 
playmates,” he said. “There’s a lot of little 
girls over there who look ever so nice.” 

But the Fairy Lady shook her head. 

“You can’t do that,” she said. “These chil- 
dren of mine live in the minds of the lonely 
children who need them, but very, very seldom 
do two real children know the same dream 
ones. You see, when there are two real chil- 
dren together, they don’t need play playmates 
at all! They have each other.” 

“I — I see,” said Bobby. And he turned to go 
on with his games with Jim and Pat and Stanley. 

But suddenly the Garden of Lonely Hours 
seemed to grow very dim. The voices of the 
children playing there seemed farther and 
farther away — ^Jim and Pat and Stanley were 


55 


The Garden of Lonely Hours 

not to be seen any more. But instead, there 
stood Aunt Lulu, smiling at him. His lonely 
hour was over. 

“Such a good boy,” said Aunt Lulu. “You 
are learning to take care of yourself so well, 
Bobby. But now I am going to have Sir Peter 
hitched to the dog cart, and we are going to 
drive to town, and I’ll teach you to drive 
yourself, coming home, when Sir Peter isn’t 
apt to be too frisky. How would you like that?” 

“Oh, Aunt Lulu, that’s fine!” cried Bobby. 
But as he went out of the tower room behind 
her, he turned and waved a “Good-bye” to the 
Gardens in the Wall. And he thought he saw 
the faces of Jim and Pat and Stanley, grinning 
cheerily out at him from among the yellow 
roses that framed one of the lower gates. 

At least, he knew where those boys were when 
he needed them again! And he was very glad 
he did. 


THE GARDEN OF MISTAKES 


Bobby Preston was very red. His Aunt Lulu 
was very red. They stood in Bobby’s room, 
where Aunt Lulu had just marched him, hold- 
ing him ahead of her, and neither one looked 
pleased. 

“I — I guess we’re both pretty mad, aren’t 
we?” said Bobby. 

“Yes,” said Aunt Lulu, “and I think I have 
a right to be.” 

“But,” explained Bobby, “I didn’t know that 
cats don’t like to be washed. Princess is white 
and she gets dreadfully dirty. We wash our 
dog at home, when he isn’t half so bad. I had 
the tub ’most full, and the water was all hot 
and nice and soapy. If it was naughty, it was 
just a mistake.” 

“Well,” said Aunt Lulu, whose pet had 
nearly had a fit from Bobby’s “mistake” and 
was now, in a basket behind the stove, shivering 
with fright and horror, “I think you’ve made 
too many mistakes lately. It was just a mistake 
the day Norah told you to put away the bread 
and the melons, and at lunch, we found the 
melons in the bread box, and the bread, quite 


J'he Garden of Mistakes 5/ 

useless, on the ice! And you made a mistake, 
and put the sticky fly-paper on the porch settee 
instead of the table, and Uncle Fred sat on it, 
and it was just a mistake when you rang the 
fire alarm, and got all the engines here ” 

“Yes,” broke in Bobby, who did not care to 
hear all his sins retold, “but they were mis- 
takes, and Fm sorry.” 

“Very well,” said Aunt Lulu, “I haven’t pun- 
ished you for your mistakes before, but I’m 
going to do it now. You are not to go out 
doors, or down stairs, even, all day. Norah 
will bring your lunch and dinner up, and they 
won’t be very good meals, either. You must 
learn not to make mistakes so often.” 

And Aunt Lulu went out, leaving Bobby, 
redder and angrier than, ever, behind her. 

Troubles! He himself had heard Uncle 
Fred say that children had no troubles! Why 
they had awful ones! If grown-ups, for in- 
stance, made mistakes and said, “I’m sorry,” 
that was the end of it. He, Bobby, must be 
punished, too! It wasn’t right — it wasn’t fair — 
it was dreadful! 

Bobby felt his whole little inside swelling up 
and getting all hot and stuffy, and then sud- 
denly he remembered — there was one of the 


58 Stories of Gardens in the Wall 

seven little gardens in the wall that he had not 
visited as yet. Surely he remembered that it 
had been named the Garden of Making Mis- 
takes. 

Thank goodness, Aunt Lulu had said ^‘the 
second floor.” Bobby could go to the tower 
room! So he did. He burst into the quiet, 
bright little room like a small whirlwind, and 
demanded, “Fairy Lady, I’ve a lot of troubles 
for you today. Have you a garden for mistakes?” 

“Yes, yes — certainly yes,” said the small, 
sweet voice of the Fairy Lady. And there she 
stood, on the step of one of the flower gardens 
pictured in the pretty paper of the tower room, 
holding open the garden gate and beckoning 
to him to come in. 

With one step, Bobby was inside the garden, 
the gate had clicked behind him, and he was 
telling his story to the Fairy Lady, talking so 
very fast, it was a wonder that she knew what 
he was saying. But she did — oh dear, yes — she 
was quite used to such tales! 

“And so,” finished Bobby, “I’m just mad 
clear through. It’s no fair to punish folks for 
just mistakes ! What do you think. Fairy Lady?” 

“Look around my garden a bit,” said the 
Fairy Lady. And she pulled Bobby to a bench, 


The Garden of Mistakes 


59 


and sat down on his shoulder while he looked. 

It was a pretty garden, as were all of the 
Gardens in the Wall. But at first Bobby saw 
nothing unusual about it. Then the thought 
came to him that a great many careless chil- 
dren must be somewhere out of sight — there 
were so many caps lying about! 

Then, as he looked at them more closely he 
saw they were odd little caps, with flaps that 
looked as if meant to come down all over the 
eyes — though that seemed hardly possible! 

Finally he said, “I can’t see anything special, 
except some funny caps. What are they for, 
Fairy Lady?” 

“My greatest medicine for people who make 
too many mistakes,” said the Fairy Lady. 
“They’re thinking caps, Bobby. Put one on. 
Just take the first you find. Any one will be 
sure to fit.” 

Bobby put out his hand and took a cap that 
hung on the branch of a bush near him. He 
put it on his head, and it fitted down very 
closely, covering his ears, and — yes, his eyes, 
too! The flap in front rolled itself down almost 
to the tip of his little pug nose. He frowned. 

“Wh — what’s that for?” asked Bobby. “I 
don’t like it.” 


60 Stories of Gardens in the Wall 

“You won’t mind in a minute,” said the Fairy- 
Lady. “And it is necessary. You shouldn’t do 
any great lot of hearing or seeing when you put 
on a thinking cap. You want to just think. 
Now, keep quiet a bit, and then talk to me.” 

Bobby sat there, quite still. Somehow, as 
soon as he had slipped the soft little cap down 
over his head, he had begun to get less angry. 
To feel quieter and better inside. 

There in the darkness and the stillness he sat, 
and thought and thought and thought, and 
things seemed to grow clearer. 

Finally, he began to talk, though he hardly 
knew that he was doing it. He just seemed to 
be thinking aloud. 

“I wouldn’t make so many mistakes,” said 
Bobby, “if I thought more. That’s what I have 
brains for, is to think with. If I don’t use my 
brains I’m not a boy at all — I’m just a little 
animal, like a puppy — like Princess — and if I 
make mistakes and do the wrong things, I must 
be punished like a dog or a cat, who hasn’t 
brains to think with. Hum — I see. If I had 
just thought a minute, I would have asked Aunt 
Lulu about bathing Princess before I tried it, 
and she’d have told me why I mustn’t do it. 
If I had just thought before I turned that 


’ The Garden of Mistakes 61 

funny knob out in the box on the street, I’d 
have known it couldn’t be for the electric light, 
and I wouldn’t have scared so many folks and 
got the firemen out for nothing. If I’d thought 
of what I was doing, instead of what I wanted 
to do, I would have put the fly-paper and the 
bread and the melons in the right places, instead 
of in the wrong ones, as I did. Oh, dear — I 
guess I have been a pretty bad boy, after all. 
Maybe Aunt Lulu had better punish me more 
than just keeping me up here today with no 
nice things to eat. But I hope she won’t. For 
really and truly all those things were mistakes, 
when I did them.” 

“Yes, yes,” said the Fairy Lady soothingly. 
“I know they were. No one can help a few 
mistakes sometimes. You won’t be punished 
any more. In fact, I have a notion that when 
Aunt Lulu puts on her own thinking cap, she’ll 
let you off before dinner time, for a run in the 
yard, and one good meal with the family down- 
stairs. It’ll just be lunch and an afternoon up 
here, I’m pretty certain. But — what about the 
next time? What about other mistakes?” 

“I won’t make them,” said Bobby. 

“How will you help it?” asked the Fairy Lady. 

“Why — why ” said Bobby, and in his 


62 Stories of Gardens in the Wall 

worry he took off the soft little cap, and held it 
tight. Then suddenly he waved it above his head. 

“I’ll take this cap with me,” he cried. “And 
I’ll carry it in my pocket always, and when I 
start to do a thing that might be wrong. I’ll 
put it on, tight, and I’ll think. And if I think 
hard enough maybe I won’t make another mis- 
take.” 

“Right,” said the Fairy Lady, clapping her 
hands and kissing him. “You caught the right 
idea much more quickly than lots of folks. I 
know grown people who ought to come to this 
garden to learn as much as you’ve learned — 
heaps of ’em, Bobby! But you needn’t take that 
cap. You can find plenty whenever you want 
them.” 

“Why, how?” asked Bobby. “I never saw 
any thinking caps hanging around at home.” 

“Maybe you never really looked,” said the 
Fairy Lady wisely. “Next time you want one, 
think of it, and the thinking cap will come, and 
help you as this one has helped you today. 
Now, Bobby, I’d like to let you stay and play 
about under the trees here, and watch other 
boys and girls come here to learn how to wear 
thinking caps. But I am sure I hear Norah 
calling. It’s lunch time, very likely.” 


The Garden of Mistakes 63 

Sure enough, there was Norah’s voice. 
Bobby jumped up, ran to the garden gate, 
opened it, and stepped down into the tower 
room. He had a feeling that perhaps never 
again would he go into one of those pretty 
gardens. He had now been in all seven, and 
each one had helped him so very much! 

He turned and looked at them. “Good-bye,’' 
he said — “Good-bye, all you pretty places, and 
you nice people, and my dear Fairy Lady — 
thank you, and good-bye.” 

“Oh, there you are!” said Norah, popping 
her head in at the door. “The love ye have for 
this little tower room is a wonder. Here’s your 
lunch, Bobby. And I guess nobody’ll be mind- 
ing that I put a cookie on the tray. Be good, 
and I’m thinking you’ll be down stairs before 
you know it.” 

And Norah whisked out again, leaving 
Bobby to eat, and to think of the things he had 
seen and learned during his seven wonderful 
trips into the Gardens in the Wall. 


THE STORIES OF THE LITTLE STAR 
BABIES 


/ 


i 


WHEN THE MAN IN THE MOON 
MET THE LITTLE STAR BABIES 


For years, everybody up in the sky had a 
notion that the Man in the Moon and his wife 
were quiet, rather selfish people, who didn’t 
care for children. The grown up stars believed 
it, so of course all the little Star Babies be- 
lieved it, too. 

Night after night, from their great golden 
bed in their white nursery in the heart of the 
Milky Way, the little Star Babies peeked out, 
and watched the broad silver moon shining, 
shining, shining there, so beautiful and big and 
bright, and wondered about the Man in the 
Moon, and thought what wonderful stories he 
should be able to tell! 

But the very boldest of them lay still and 
quiet, if a nurse star popped in her head to 
say, “Be good, now, or the Man in the Moon 
will look down here to see what all the noise is 
about, and then the very glance of his cold eyes 
may turn you into little golden icicles.” 

Of course it wasn’t true. But the little Star 
Babies feared it might be, and they went on 
being afraid of the poor old Man in the Moon, 


68 Stories of Little Star Babies 

who really was lonely, too, until one day some- 
thing happened that straightened things out for- 
ever. 

The Big Bear often brought the Little Bear 
down to their nursery to play with them. Gen- 
erally when this happened, the grown stars 
watched the Star Babies closely, for the Little 
Bear wasn’t so very little after all, and though 
good natured as could be, was quite apt to be 
rough. 

But one special day, nobody saw, when the 
whole dozen of the littlest Star Babies climbed 
up on the Little Bear’s back, and went off across 
the skies for a ride! 

Of course, all the Star Babies were simply 
shrieking with glee, and the Little Bear was 
having a good time, too. 

But — twelve babies are a good many to get 
on the back of one small bear at the same time. 
And the back of a bear isn’t the easiest thing to 
cling to! So when the Little Bear and his 
laughing load got home again, a dreadful thing 
was found out — two of the Star Babies had fallen 
off! They were gone — they were lost in the sky! 

Such a to-do as there was, to be sure! 

The nurse stars cried till there were dreadful 
rain storms down on the Earth, and all the great 


The Man in the Moon 


69 


stars, Mars and Venus and Jupiter, and others, 
offered rewards for finding the lost babies. The 
Bears, both Big and Little, hunted till they 
were so tired they nearly dropped, and the 
little, stars who were left, huddled together in 
a corner of their white nursery there in the 
heart of the Milky Way, and cried together. 
It was a very damp and mournful day every- 
where. 

Then suddenly there came a sturdy tramp, 
tramp, tramp across the skies, a knocking at the 
nursery door, and two little squeals of delight, 
as two jolly, happy Star Babies jumped down 
from the arms of — now, who do you suppose? 
Why, the smiling old Man in the Moon! He 
wasn’t stiff or cold or cross at all! It seemed 
that he just had not had a chance to get ac- 
quainted with the Star Babies, and he liked 
little children very much, and he had seen the 
two lost babies slide off the back of the Little 
Bear, and had made a wonderful grab at them 
as they started to fall, and caught them in his 
great hands. ^^And,” cried the excited Babies, 
^‘he took us home, where he and his wife live, 
in the dearest little house inside the Moon. 
And we had pease porridge, hot, for supper, 
and oh, but it’s good. And Mrs. Man in the 


70 Stories of Little Star Babies 

Moon is going to bring a great potful over so 
you can all have a taste!” 

“And,” broke in the other Star Baby, “they 
are nice people, and they love children, and it 
was very silly for us to be afraid of them so 
long — wasn’t it?” To the surprise of the other 
babies, that one jumped up and gave the Man 
in the Moon a great big kiss, right on the tip 
of his chin! But the Man in the Moon just 
smiled, and hugged the baby close, and said 
“Yes.” 

Such a great time as there was, to be sure! 
The grown stars came to welcome the lost 
babies back home again, and to say, “How de 
do” to their neighbor, the Man in the Moon, 
and thank him for what he had done. 

And in the midst of things a pleasant voice 
cried: 

**Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold, 
Pease porridge in the pot, nine days oldf^ 

and there was Mrs. Man in the Moon, smiling 
at everybody, with two great pots of porridge, 
both hot and cold, and everybody sat right 
down and had a feast, and the Little Bear ate 
so much he had to be carried home! 

After supper, the big stars went off to do 


The Man in the Moon 


71 


their shining. But there didn’t have to be a 
moon that night, so the Man in the Moon and 
his wife stayed and helped the Star Babies to 
bed, patty-caking pretty pink hands and count- 
ing pretty pink toes and kissing pretty pink 
cheeks. Then Mrs. Man in the Moon tucked 
them up all snuggley warm in their great 
golden bed, with the pillows stuffed with snow- 
flakes under their heads, and soft sheets of mist 
under their chins, and fine blankets of pretty 
gray cloud over them to keep them warm. And 
then the Man in the Moon did a very unwise 
thing — if he ever again wished to get rid of 
the Star Babies 1 

He told them a story! Told them all about 
the way he came to live in the Moon, and of 
the many soaps and scouring bricks and wash- 
ing powders he used to keep the old moon 
bright and shiny. And then he wanted to stop. 
But they all cried, ‘^Just one morel” and he told 
them a story of the times when he was a little 
star, too. And then Mrs. Man in the Moon 
shook her head at him and showed him how 
very late it was, and he said, ^‘Yes, yes, I know 
it, my dear. Fm coming now.” 

So she turned the light down sleepy-low, and 
they smoothed the sheets again^ and tucked in 


72 Stories of Little Star Babies 

the covers, and rubbed one little back, that 
seemed to need rubbing, and kissed one little 
mouth that said it needed kissing, and v^ent out 
to get a dipper full of milk from the Milky 
Way, for good-night drinks all ’round, and 
then, when they were very sure everybody was 
almost asleep, and started to tip-toe out, a wide- 
awake voice cried from the very center of the 
bed, “Just one more, please, just one more!” 
And there were all the saucy Star Babies, wide 
awake as ever. 

And the old Man in the Moon — why, he just 
sat down and laughed! And Mrs. Man in the 
Moon laughed with him. 

Then once more he sat down on the edge of 
the great golden bed and all the Star Babies 
crowded around him so close they hurt each 
other with their sharp little star points. 

But the old Man in the Moon had no more 
stories to tell that night. 

“It is too late,” he said; “but I’ll make a 
promise if you will.” 

“We will,” cried all the Star Babies. “What 
is it?” 

“This,” said the Man in the Moon solemnly. 
“I have been shining away here up in the skies 
many, many years, and I know many, many 


The Man in the Moon 


73 


stories. And I will promise to come here and 
tell them to you nights when I am not too 

busy, just before you go to sleep ” There 

came a great cheering and shouting of baby 
voices. “But,” broke in the Man in the Moon, 
“you folks must make a promise, too; and if 
you keep yours. I’ll keep mine, and if you 
break yours, mine is to be broken.” 

The Star Babies were very silent and looked 
very serious. What would they have to prom- 
ise to keep thins wonderful new friend? 

“After I have once said, “That’s enough,’ 
you must promise, on your words of honor, 
never, never to say to me, ‘Just one more.’ ” 

The Star Babies looked at each other rather 
sheepishly. They were all a little doubtful, 
too. Could they keep that promise, if they 
gave it? They all loved stories so — especially 
at bed time, when folks expected them to go 
to sleep, and they didn’t wish to do it! They 
thought pretty hard for a minute! 

But the Man in the Moon evidently meant 
what he said. And he was very nice, and he 
had shown he could tell good stories, so, with 
great sighs, the little Star Babies promised! 

The Man in the Moon smiled at them. 

“Good babies!” he said. “Remember, now — 


74 Stories of Little Star Babies 

if any of you ask for more after I’ve said 
‘Enough,’ I stop telling any at all. Under- 
stand? Now, then, we’ll go all over this last- 
kiss, last-tuck, last-drink business again, you lit- 
tle scalawags, and then, to sleep with you, every 
one.” 

And meekly the Star Babies went to sleep, 
while the old Man in the Moon and his wife 
walked home together across the sky, arm in 
arm, thinking what a good time they would 
have, now they had at last made friends with 
the little Star Babies. 

And that was the way these stories came to 
be told. 


THE STORY OF THE WAKEFUL STAR 
BABY 


The Man in the Moon had had a very hard 
and tiring night. He had smiled a great deal, 
and shone very brightly, and had a hard time 
chasing away some clouds that had tried to 
spoil all his work and make a nice night into 
a bad one. So he was very glad to be through 
at last, and have a chance to go away to his 
big, soft bed, and climb into it for a few hours’ 
sleep. 

He gave a great, happy yawn, stretched him- 
self, drew the soft cloud blankets up under his 
chin, started to drop happily off to sleep, and 
then — he sat straight up, scowled, and said, 
^‘What’s that?” 

Not very far away, somebody had giggled. 
Not a sleepy, soft little giggle, either. A big, 
noisy, wide-awake one, that giggle had been! 

The Man in the Moon frowned and lay 
down again. He drew the blankets up over his 
head, and stuffed his fingers down into his ears. 
But it did no good at all. There came a whole 
lot of noisy little giggles, that would have kept 
anybody in the sky wide awake. 


76 Stories of Little Star Babies 

So at last he jumped up, pulled on the slip- 
pers that his wife had crocheted him out of 
moonbeams, drew his big bath robe of light 
gray fog about his shoulders, and started 
straight off for the place from which those 
naughty giggles came. 

It was a bedstead, a great, high, golden bed- 
stead standing in a white nursery in the heart 
of the Milky Way. And in that bedstead a 
whole lot of little baby stars had been tucked 
up for the night. 

But — you see there had been no one, that 
evening, to kiss them a dozen time apiece, and 
tell them that the hall light was lit, and the 
door open so anybody could hear them call, 
and to bring them seventeen drinks apiece and 
turn their pillows over twice and wish “Sweet 
Dreams” over and over again. So, of course, 
they had not gone to sleep at all, and were hav- 
ing a fine time together. 

The Man in the Moon marched up to the 
side of their bed, and stood there scowling 
down at them in a frightful way, but they 
knew him well, and weren’t afraid of him a bit. 

Instead of even pretending to be sorry, those 
naughty Star Babies sat up and called, all 
together, “Oh, a story, a story — do please tell 


77 


The Wakeful Star Baby 

us a story!” And they bounced about so, that 
great holes were poked in their pillows, and the 
feathers flew out and made a snow storm down 
on the Earth, to the huge surprise of Earth 
people, as it didn’t happen to be snow time at 
all! 

^‘Here, here — this will never do,” cried the 
Man in the Moon. ^‘The earth folk will think 
we don’t know how to run things properly up 
here in the sky if you act this way. I see I 
must keep you quiet, so I’ll tell you just one 
story. Then you must go to sleep like good 
little stars, and not keep the whole sky awake 
with your nonsense.” 

“Tell us a story, and then we’ll be good,” 
promised the Star Babies. And so the Man 
in the Moon sat down on the bed, and began: 

“There was, once upon a time, a Star Baby 
who hated dreadfully to go to bed. She 
shrieked when she even heard the word spoken. 
She cried when she laid eyes on a sheet or a 
blanket or pillow. She screamed and kicked 
when anybody asked her to go to sleep. She 
stayed awake all night herself whenever she 
could, and she kept everybody else awake, too, 
and was generally a very naughty Star Baby, 
indeed. 


78 Stories of Little Star Babies 

“ ‘You must go to bed and sleep sometimes,’ 
said the grown stars, in despair at such ac- 
tions. ‘Everybody has to do that.’ 

“ ‘I won’t!’ cried the Wakeful Star Baby, 
‘I’ll find some place where nobody even knows 
what a bed looks like. There must be such a 
place. And there I’ll stay forever and forever, 
and be happy.’ 

“Well, there really is such a place, and the 
grown stars made up their minds that they had 
better send her there. 

“That very day the Wakeful Star Baby was 
sent to visit Venus. Now Venus is, as you all 
know, a very bright and beautiful star, and a 
big one, too. But you may not know of one 
very strange thing about her. 

“She swings around the Sun in such a way 
that half of her is always away from the Sun, 
and so always dark. And half of her is always 
towards the Sun, and so always light, while 
there is, between the two, a pleasant little strip 
of twilight country. 

“Of course, it was to the light side that they 
sent the Wakeful Star Baby. 

“Venus was very glad, indeed, to see her. 
‘This is the very place for you,’ she said, when 
she had heard all the story. ‘Just stay here on 


79 


The Wakeful Star Baby 

my nice bright, sunny side. Put down your 
toys and books, and unpack your little trunk 
of clothes, and make yourself right at home. 
You’ll be very happy here. There isn’t the 
least sign of a bed, or of a cot or couch or 
.hammock, or even a steamer chair. Nothing 
on which a person might feel like going to 
sleep.” 

“ ^Oh, goody, how perfectly scrumptuous,’ 
cried the Wakeful Star Baby, her big, bright 
golden eyes sparkling with joy. And she made 
herself at home, and laughed and danced and 
sang, for what would have been days and days 
together, in any other place. 

“But, after a bit, she began to feel queer. 
Her head felt as if it weighed pounds and 
pounds, and her eyes seemed strange and 
smarty. 

“ ‘Do your eyes ever get all hot and smarty?’ 
she asked. Venus shook her head and answered, 
‘No, of course not.’ 

“But the eyes of the Wakeful Star Baby grew 
worse. 

“‘What’s that soft, dull shadow over there?’ 
she asked, squinting up the poor, aching eyes 
and looking eagerly towards the darkness. 

“ ‘That?’ said Venus. ‘Why, that is my twi- 


80 Stories of Little Star Babies 

light zone. That’s where the half of me that 
is always day, and the half that is always night, 
meet each other. Over there people are apt to 
feel drowsy all the time, but never quite go 
to sleep.’ 

“ ‘May I run over for a little while?’ asked 
the Wakeful Star Baby. And Venus answered, 
‘Yes, of course, though it’s a strange place for 
you to wish to see.’ 

“But the Wakeful Star Baby went. To tell 
the truth, she hurried, and when she reached 
the shadow, her aching eyes were rested, and 
she felt better than she had felt for some time. 

“ ‘I like it here,’ said the Wakeful Star Baby. 
‘Are there — are there any places to lie down?’ 

“ ‘Mercy me, why no, of course not,’ said 
Venus. ‘Don’t worry.’ And the Wakeful Star 
Baby tried to look glad, but she seemed a little 
sorry, instead, and she was very quiet, and did 
not dance or play or sing as much as she had at 
first. She still felt rather queer. 

“Then, instead of looking from the shadows 
toward the light, she began to look a great deal 
towards the soft blackness, that she knew was 
the always-night side of Venus. 

“ ‘Are there any beds over there?’ she asked 
Venus at last. ‘I should say so,’ answered 


81 


The Wakeful Star Baby 

Venus with a smile. ^There is nothing else! 
Over there you’ll find rows and rows of beds — 
soft, bouncy beds, with the whitest, coolest of 
sheets, and the nicest, cuddliest of pillows, and 
plenty of soft, warm blankets, and all around 
them, the sweet, dark, quiet night.’ 

“ ‘Oh, oh, oh, how lovely!’ cried the Wakeful 
Star Baby. ‘I want to go there right away. I 
just have to go to bed — I do, I do, I do I’ 

“And she forgot her dolls, and toys, and 
books. She began to unfasten her clothes as 
she ran, and she hurried, as fast as ever she 
could go, right straight over into the night side 
of Venus! 

“ ‘Wait, wait!’ Venus called after her. ‘If 
you once go there, you’ll have to stay a long 
time to make up all the sleep that you have 
been losing!’ 

“But the Wakeful Star Baby called back, ‘I 
don’t care — I’ll be glad of it. I just feel as if 
I could sleep forever and a day, I am so very 
tired.’ 

“And without another word, she whipped a 
nightie over her head, jumped into the first 
bed she found empty, and went sound asleep 
there. 

“But Venus had told the truth. She had so 


82 


Stories of Little Star Babies 


much sleep to make up, that she has been in 
bed there for years and years! She’s growing 
up asleep! When she does wake, she’ll be so 
changed she’ll have to be introduced to her- 
self.” 

“I wouldn’t like that at all,” said the eldest 
Star Baby. “I wouldn’t want to lose track of 
myself that way.” 

“Very well, then, said the old Man in the 
Moon quite sternly, “I think you’d better begin 
to be careful, by going to sleep on time this 
very evening — or it might happen to you, you 
know.” 

There were a few gasps from the Star 
Babies. Then silence. And as the Man in the 
Moon went home to bed, not a sound could be 
heard in the whole of the great wide sky. 


THE STORY OF THE TEASING OGRE 

It was the time in the month when the Man 
in the Moon was not so very busy. He had 
only to keep enough of the Moon polished up 
to show a wee little shining curve, and that did 
not take much time, so he wasn’t as tired as 
people are who have worked hard for hours. 

All the Star Babies knew this, of course. 
And when they went past his house on their 
afternoon walk, they stopped at the door a 
moment, to invite him to come over and have 
tea with them that evening. 

^ Why, certainly — I would be delighted,” said 
the Man in the Moon. “And — would you like 
me to think up a story?” 

“Why, certainly,” said the oldest Star Baby, 
trying to be dignified, like his old friend, 
while the others yelled, “Yes, yes, yes, yes!” as 
hard as ever they could. 

“Very well,” said the Man in the Moon, “if 
I see at tea time that you’ve all washed your 
hands well, wrists and backs and nails, and 
there’s no squabbling for the biggest pieces of 
cake, and everybody says ‘Thanks,’ I’ll tell you 
a story — maybe more than one.” 


84 Stories of Little Star Babies 

“Oh, gooHy!” cried the Star Babies. And 
that night at tea time they were so very, very 
clean, and so very, very polite, their nurses 
wondered if they were going to be sick next 
day! 

A glorious evening they had, with candy to 
eat and games to play, and then, when they were 
all of them in their golden nighties, the Man 
in the Moon wrapped them up in cloudy gray 
blankets and cuddled them in his great, kind 
arms, and rocked them as he told them the 
story of the Teasing Ogre. 

“Once upon a time,” said the Man in the 
Moon, “there lived down there on the twink- 
ling little earth star, a very dreadful ogre. 

“He was particularly dangerous, because he 
was not a bad looking fellow at all. He looked 
just like ordinary people. And so it happened 
that many folks never even knew he was an 
ogre ! 

“But he was the very worst sort of one, be- 
cause he liked to frighten little children! He 
laughed, and said he was only teasing them. 
And of course everybody knows that earth 
babies, sky babies, water babies, must learn to 
stand teasing pleasantly, or they are no good 
at all when they grow up. 


85 


The Teasing Ogre 

“But the Ogre’s teasing was of the naughty 
sort. He was the kind of person who wouldn’t 
say, ‘You must not go in that room, because it 
is too cold!” but, instead, ‘There are fifty thou- 
sand great black bears in that room, and if you 
so much as peep in at the door, they’ll jump at 
you and squeeze you flat as a pancake.’ 

“He wouldn’t say, ‘You must not run away, 
because you might get lost, and we would never 
see you any more,’ but, instead, ‘If you go out- 
side your yard, there are dreadful, great, roar- 
ing lions waiting in the next street to catch you 
and chew you into mincemeat.’ 

“He made children afraid of the soft, sweet 
dark, and of policemen, who are such good 
friends to children, and did a great many other 
naughty things, before the earth people found 
out how much trouble he was making them. 

“Then they were very angry. And after they 
had talked and talked about what they should 
do with him, they just decided there wasn’t 
any room on earth for such a man. So they 
got a big balloon, and tied him to it, and sent 
him off to live in the sky. They thought he 
couldn’t do any harm up there, because, you 
see, they did not know about our little Star 
Babies! 


86 


Stories of Little Star Babies 


“So up came the Teasing Ogre! He was 
angry as could be at first, to think that there’d 
be no little children to scare. But he found the 
Star Babies soon enough — oh, dear me, yes! 
And he grew happy again, with more children 
to frighten and to tease. 

“But the grown stars found out all about him 
right away, and they sent him back to earth 
a-kiting! But the earth people simply wouldn’t 
have him any more, and threw him up into 
the skies again, and the sky people sent him 
away, and there he was, tossed backwards and 
forwards, with nobody wanting him, but no- 
body knowing what could be done with him! 

“So, at last, the grown stars caught him and 
decided to let old King Sun settle his case. 
They took the Teasing Ogre up before the 
throne of King Sun, and told the Sun all about 
him. And the Sun wrinkled up his big, red, 
shiny face, and stared at the Ogre, and then 
frowned and scowled at him, till the Ogre 
began to feel all hot and queer and most un- 
happy! 

“Truly, King Sun,’ he said, T don’t hurt 
the children one bit! I only have a little fun 
with them! I tease them a bit, and of course 
you know it is necessary for all children to be 


The Teasing Ogre 87 

teased. It hardens ’em — toughens ’em — makes 
’em braver.’ 

“ ^Hum — if they’re teased the right way,’ said 
the Sun. ‘But it never, never helps a child to be 
frightened. And it hurts a child when people 
tell it lies. You are a very dangerous person. 
I must get you out of the way immediately. 
And — let me think — hum — yes — I know just 
exactly what I will do with you.’ 

“The Teasing Ogre got very white, and 
shook in his shoes till you could almost hear his 
bones rattle! He wondered what was going to 
happen. 

“He found out very, very soon. 

“King Sun just reached a great hot hand out 
into the sky, and fished around in space until 
he caught a comet, and held it by its flashing 
tail! 

“Then he drew it in, closer, closer, wriggling 
all the time, while the Teasing Ogre, as fright- 
ened as any child had ever been by any of his 
teasing, watched and trembled. 

“ ‘Oh, please, please don’t set that dreadful 
fiery thing after me,’ he begged, but the Sun 
just laughed at him. 

“ ‘I won’t,’ said the Sun, with a broad grin, 
‘but I’ll set you after it. I am going to put 


88 Stories of Little Star Babies 

you to ride on the tip of that comet’s tail, and I 
think that will keep you out of trouble for some 
time to come.’ 

“ ‘So, holding the squirming comet tight in 
one great hand, the Sun took up the Teasing 
Ogre in the other, and set him carefully astride 
the tip of the comet’s tail, and then he let the 
comet go! 

“ ‘Ker-swishl Off it scurried across the sky, 
with the Teasing Ogre yelling from fright, and 
hanging on with arms and legs, too, and all 
the stars laughing at him. Not one of them 
was a bit sorry for him. 

“ ‘Just at first, of course, the Teasing Ogre 
was frightened ’most to death. 

“But pretty soon he began to see that he 
wasn’t going to tumble off, and so, instead of 
growing sorrier for his naughy pranks, he be- 
gan to think of ways to go on with them! 

“He wished to show everybody he could still 
talk if he wanted to do it. So he made up a lot 
more of the naughty, scary stories he had been 
telling all his life, and he got his voice into 
shape so he could talk very loud and very 
fast. And then, as his comet flew here and 
there across the sky, that naughty Teasing Ogre 
would lean far out over the tip of its tail, and 


The Teasing Ogre 89 

shriek out things at the Star Babies, as he went 
flashing by. 

“But — he didn’t do any harm at all! You 
see, his comet went so very, very fast, that no 
Star Baby could ever, hear the whole of one 

sentence! One would hear, ‘If you don’t ’ 

and another, miles away, ‘be good always ’ 

and a third, still farther along, ‘a wicked fairy 

will tickle you with feathers ’ and the last 

baby, so far away he never saw the others may- 
be, would catch, ‘till you just turn inside out, 
and wriggle yourself into a worm.’ 

“So, as nobody heard all the story, nobody, 
of course, was hurt by it! In fact, the Teasing 
Ogre really came to do a great deal of good! 
For he looked so funny, leaning far over the tip 
of his comet’s tail, and making faces in his 
efforts to talk loud and fast, that he was a reg- 
ular moving picture, and the Star Babies used 
to crowd to see him, and laugh at him as he 
went by! 

“Some of the boldest Star Babies even used 
to chase his comet, and try to straddle its tail, 
so the Teasing Ogre would yell at them to 
stop it before he fell off. 

“And for all I know, the same comet is still 
sweeping around the skies, with the very same 


90 Stories of Little Star Babies 

Teasing Ogre still sitting upon it, trying to 
think of naughty, untrue things to say, and to 
get voice enough, and time enough, to say them. 
But he never can do any harm any more.” 

“That’s a most interesting story,” said the 
oldest of the Star Babies. “I’d like a sight of 
that comet some day.” And he leaned over and 
whispered something to the bravest Star Baby, 
who nodded his shining golden head and smiled 
in a way that made the Man in the Moon a 
little bit uneasy. But he soon forgot that, in 
the fun of tucking up the Star Babies in the 
great golden bed, with their white sheets and 
soft gray cloud blankets. And by the time they 
were kissed all around, and had begun drop- 
ping off to sleep, he had put the story of the 
Teasing Ogre quite out of his mind, and went 
happily home to an evening with Mrs. Man in 
the Moon, never thinking of trouble. 

But — the Star Babies did not forget — that is, 
the eldest and the bravest of them didn’t. If 
the Man in the Moon had listened, he’d have 
heard them whispering, far into the night! 


THE STORY OF THE LITTLE LOST 
STARS 


It was a very stormy night, so the Man in 
the Moon did not have to work at all. He 
sat about enjoying a real lazy time, then had his 
supper, and said to Mrs. Man in the Moon, as 
he got up from the table, “Well, my dear, I 
believe that now I’ll run over and see the 
Star Babies, and maybe tell them some stories. 

“Very well,” said Mrs. Man in the Moon, as 
she cleared the table. “But before you go, I 
want to tell you something. Two of the oldest 
Babies are behaving very badly. They cannot 
be kept at home any longer! They will run 
away every chance they get. And what do you 
think they say when they are found, and 
brought home again? They say that they are 
looking for a comet that has a Teasing Ogre 
sitting on its tail! Now, did you ever hear any- 
thing like that in all your life? What do you 
suppose has got into the heads of those two 
silly children?” 

The Man in the Moon coughed, and 
squirmed, and grew a little red. Then sud- 
denly he laughed. 


92 Stories of Little Star Babies 

“I might as well confess,” he said, is all 
my fault. Their heads are full of the story 
I told them the other night.” 

Mrs. Man in the Moon laughed, too. “I 
thought so,” she said. “That is why I told you 
about it. Well, now, the next thing for you 
to do, is to think up another story, that will 
stop their running away, as surely as this one 
started their doing it. We don’t want any of 
those precious babies lost in the sky, you know. 
You think just as hard as ever you can.” And 
she gave him a kiss and sent him out to see his 
small friends. 

The Man in the Moon was very thoughtful as 
he walked over to the Milky Way, where the Star 
Babies lived, and he walked so slowly that by the 
time he got there they were all ready for bed. 

“Oh, goody! — we were ’most afraid you 
weren’t going to come tonight,” said the sweet- 
est Star Baby, as she nestled up against him, 
and stroked his cheek with her hand. 

“Of coure I’d come if I could,” said the Man 
in the Moon, as he opened his arms and gath- 
ered all of the tiny Star Babies into them. 

“And you’ll tell us a story — oh, please do 
tell us a story,” they all cried, and the Man 
in the Moon nodded “Yes.” 


The Little Lost Stars 


93 


‘‘I have a very interesting story to tell to you 
tonight,” he said, when everything was quiet. 
^‘It is the story of the Little Lost Stars.” 

“Oh, who are they?” asked the Star Babies. 

“Wait, and listen, and maybe you can guess 
for yourselves, if you’re clever babies,” said 
the Man in the Moon. “There was a round 
dozen of them, just as there is a dozen of you, 
and they lived right near here in the Milky 
Way, and they, too, had a white nursery with 
plenty of milk to drink, and a great golden bed 
in which to sleep. But I never told them any 
stories. I never grew to know them, as I know 
you. And that was too bad. I wish now I’d 
called on them, and got acquainted some day. 
I might have saved them a lot of trouble, who 
knows? Because, you see, trouble came to those 
babies. All because they just would run away!” 

The Man in the Moon felt a giggle, under 
his right arm, where the two elder Star Babies 
were nestled, side by side, but he paid no at- 
tention to them. 

“Those babies would run away,” he went 
on, “the whole twelve of them; and you could 
see them dodging about the sky at all hours, 
getting in the way of the grown stars, when 
they should have been safe at home, or sound 


94 Stories of Little Star Babies 

asleep in bed. For, like you, they were much 
too small to do any shining yet, and should 
have spent their time trying to grow up into 
big, strong stars. 

“Well, time after time, the grown stars found 
them and brought them home, and scolded them 
sometimes, spanked them sometimes, and some- 
times put them to bed without any supper. But 
not a thing did the least bit of good — those 
naughty little stars would run away again, just 
as soon as they were able! 

Sometimes they even ran as far as the earth, 
and the earth people would see them, and try 
to catch them, and hold them. Sometimes they 
flew right up into my face, twice shutting ofif 
my light from the earth in such a way as to 
frighten the earth folk very much indeed. 

“In fact, those little stars got to be the very 
wildest, naughtiest children that ever were seen, 
and as for manners — why, they simply hadn’t 
any! 

“People grew to like them less and less — 
till at last nobody had any use for them at all, 
though still we all tried to help them, and see 
if we couldn’t make them nice and lovable once 
more, when, all at once, they took to chasing 
comets! And as everybody knows, the comets 


The Little Lost Stars 95 

are the fastest things in the sky — very, very 
dangerous, and apt to be most unpleasant.” 

The Man in the Moon felt a large amount 
of wriggling under his right arm, but still he 
paid no attention to it, and went right on with 
his story. 

“Well — they chased comets, as I told you. 
Sometimes they got near enough to tweak a 
comet by its tail, and see it wriggle. Sometimes 
the boldest ones got near enough to catch a 
short, fast ride on a comet’s hot back — which 
was fun unless the comet switched them off, 
which it usually did, so that they bumped their 
heads and bruised their little star points badly. 
When that happened, these Star Babies forgot 
they were pretending to be grown up, and made 
a fuss and cried, and wished to be petted, just 
as if they were real babies again. 

“Well, one night that sort of thing happened 
to them, and they cried so loud that they 
woke up the Sun! Now, the Star Babies had 
learned to be very careful about getting near 
the Sun, or letting him know about their 
pranks. The Sun works harder than anybody else 
in the sky, and he is very big, and he is the King 
— and he makes a fuss if he doesn’t get his rest! 

“So, now, when he was wakened by the 


96 Stories of Little Star Babies 

racket of the naughty Star Babies, he was very 
angry, and bawled out in his great, deep voice 
to know what was the matter. When he was 
told, he grew angrier yet, and said, ‘Send those 
bad babies right up here to me, and I’ll fix 
them so they’ll behave for a bit. We must have 
quiet skies, or there’ll be no rest for anybody.’ 

“The naughty Star Babies were dreadfully 
frightened and would have crept off to bed as 
quiet as mice if they had been allowed. But 
they had to go right up to the house of the 
Sun. He found out the whole story, from the 
very first. About their running away, and re- 
fusing to mind anybody, and flying in my face, 
and worrying the grown stars, and getting 
rough and bad mannered — he heard it all. 
Last, about their chasing comets. That was the 
very last straw! 

“The Sun got so angry that silly earth people 
thought he was going to burn them all up, and 
rushed about down on their earth star, shriek- 
ing for water to throw on the steaming earth. 

“What did the Sun do? He took that dozen 
of Star Babies up in his big hot hands and said 
to them, ‘Run away babies are certain to be 
lost babies, some time. And just to show other 
babies who will come after you what happens 


The Little Lost Stars 


97 


to naughty children, I say that you shall, from 
this time on, be lost babies, for two million 
years, three months and twenty-nine days! Dur- 
ing all that time, you shall never be able to 
find your own homes, though you must go 
looking, looking for them, everywhere. 

“ ^Star babies, and earth babies, too, shall see 
you as you go hurrying across the sky, and learn 
from you what happens to runaways, though 
people will not speak of you as runaway stars, 

but ’ Now, what do you think those stars 

have been called ever since,” asked the Man in 
the Moon, of his own lapful of babies. The 
older babies did not answer at all, but the others 
cried out, “The Falling Stars — they must be 
the Falling Stars.” 

“Right,” said the old Man in the Moon. 
“And the Falling Stars they still must be, for 
nearly a million years longer, always hurrying 
about the skies in search of their home, never 
being able to stay long in one place, never con- 
tented, never happy, just because they ran away 
too many times, a million years ago.” 

The Man in the Moon stopped and hugged 
his babies close. Suddenly the very oldest of 
them spoke. 

“Say,” he said, boyishly, “do you know, I’m 


98 Stories of Little Star Babies 

awfully glad you told that story just when you 
did.” 

‘‘Are you?” asked the Man in the Moon 
politely, and he gave the oldest Star Baby a 
hug as he carried him off to bed with the others. 

Then, as he dumped them in a giggling little 
bunch on the broad, golden bed, he added, “It’s 
fine to know my Star Babies will never be so 
naughty nor so silly. They all of them have 
too much sense, anyway, to do such things. 
Chasing after comets, indeed — the very idea! 
Queer thing to do, isn’t it?” 

“Oh, yes!” cried all the Star Babies. And 
none of them spoke so loudly as the two older 
ones, the very oldest adding, under his breath, 
“And you just bet we won’t ever do it any 
more, will we?” To which the second oldest 
whispered, “No siree.” 

But the wise old Man in the Moon pretended 
he never heard them at all. He just smiled to 
himself as he went home across the broad and 
quiet sky, to tell his wife everything was all 
right, and she needn’t worry about the Star 
Babies any more. 


GREEN CHEESE AND THE MAN IN 
THE MOON 


“Dear me, I certainly must do my very best 
to shine nicely tonight,’’ said the Man in the 
Moon, as he went on duty one evening. 
“H-u-mmm! Fourteen hundred lawn fetes, a 
couple of thousand garden parties, dozens and 
dozens of moonlight walks, and ten million 
moonlight sails already arranged for! Very 
well. I’ll do my best to disappoint no one. I’ll 
send out orders for a clear sky and few breezes.” 

So he did, and a very quiet and beautiful 
evening it was down on the Earth Star, and 
silly people said ‘What luck!” not realizing 
that the Man in the Moon had taken pains to 
make it so. 

Of course, he was the last one to expect any 
noise in the sky. But it came, along about 
eleven o’clock. A noise? A whole lot of 
noises! 

First came a little bit of a whimpering. And 
then a few good cries, and then — howls that 
turned to yowls, and yowls that grew into 
shrieks, and shrieks that turned into yells! 

It was such a dreadful commotion! 


100 Stories of Little Star Babies 

The poor Man in the Moon squirmed and 
wondered. He knew perfectly well that some- 
thing was the matter with his precious Star 
Babies. 

But there wasn’t a thing he could do about 
it. He simply had to go right on with his 
work. And not a soul could he find who could 
be sent over to the nursery in the heart of the 
Milky Way, to bring him word of what was 
the matter. 

But at last, as he watched and listened, he 
saw the whole family of Falling Stars come 
tumbling along, as if in the greatest sort of a 
hurry, and reaching out his great silver hand, 
the Man in the Moon caught one of the Fall- 
ing Stars by its flying yellow garments and held 
it tight, as he demanded, “Tell me quick — 
whatever is the matter with my little Star 
Babies?” 

“Stomach ache,” said the Falling Star shortly, 
with a wink and a grin. “The whole batch of 
them got into the cupboard where the green 
cheese is kept. Wouldn’t believe it was’nt good 
baby food, though they’ve been warned against 
it dozens of times, as you know. Result — well, 
you can hear it! They have good lungs, haven’t 
they? Fm off to the Earth Star to get a quart 


The Green Cheese 


101 


of peppermint, and one brother has gone for 
a bunch of mustard plasters, and the rest of 
our family has hurried up to the Sun, with 
hot water bottles, and soap stones, and plates, 
and flat irons, to get everything heated piping 
hot. That’ll fix ’em. Let me go — I must 
hurry.” 

‘‘Well, well — well, well — ^we-e-1-1-1-1,” said 
the Man in the Moon as he let the Falling 
Star go. Then he smiled a little and sighed a 
little, shrugged his broad, shining shoulders and 
set himself to thinking — very hard. 

After a time, the Falling Stars could be 
seen, all hurrying back across the sky. And 
then the yells turned back to shrieks, the shrieks 
to yowls, the yowls to howls, the howls to cry- 
ing, the crying died into low little pitiful 
whimpers, and then even the whimpers trickled 
off into silence. The Star Babies were better. 
There was silence in the sky. 

The next evening being very cloudy, with 
lots of rain, the Man in the Moon had no work 
to do, so he strolled over early to the Milky 
Way, and went in to see his Star Babies. 

They were all there, in their yellow nighties, 
ready for bed and cheery as crickets, but a little 
bit uneasy, too. 


102 Stories of Little Star Babies 

“Did — did you hear — anything — strange — 
last night?’’ asked the bravest Star Baby. And 
the others all held their breaths to listen. 

They hated to have the Man in the Moon 
know when they had been naughty. 

Now he looked down at them in a puzzled 
way. “Why, yes — ” he said, and they shook 
in their little bed-room slippers — “I heard the 
breezes making an awful racket, after I had 
given orders for a quiet night. There is no 
depending on the Wind any longer.” 

The Star Babies gave a great sigh of delight. 
Maybe he didn’t know! 

“A story, a story!” they demanded, as usual, 
and began swarming all over the Man in the 
Moon, trying to get into his arms, and onto 
his shoulders, or find seats on his lap. 

“Whatever shall it be?” asked the Man in 
the Moon. And the youngest Star Baby, as 
he usually did, cried out, “Oh, please a story 
of what you did when you were a little star.” 

“What a good idea!” said the Man in the 
Moon, “and very kind of you to help me out 
with it.” The Star Babies didn’t understand 
exactly what he meant by that, but they did 
a little later. 

“When I was small,” began the Man in the 


The Green Cheese 


103 


Moon, “and that is a long, long time ago, I 
can tell you — things were very different up 
here in the sky. The Earth Star down there 
was a wee thing then, smaller than any of you, 
and with me and many other older stars, slept 
in this very same golden bed you have. Oh, 
but we did have a good time then! I wasn’t 
any better than other children, I fancy, nor 
any worse, either — except in one way.” 

“What was that?” asked all the Star Babies. 
“I was a greedy little pig,” said the Man in 
the Moon. And the Star Babies said, “O-o-ohl” 
and then kept still. 

“Yes,” said the Man in the Moon, “I was a 
very greedy little pig. And, for being a pig, I 
got a punishment that has lasted right along 
up to now!” 

“Oh, mercy — what?” asked the greediest Star 
Baby, all in a flutter. 

“I think I’ll tell you all about it,” said the 
Man in the Moon. “You see, when I was a 
youngster, the people up here in the sky had 
just begun to make that delicious green cheese 
they make from the extra milk, left over from 
the Milky Way. It was a new thing then, and 
seemed even nicer than it does today. Any- 
way, I loved it more. And when the big stars 


104 


Stories of Little Star Babies 


told me it wasn’t baby food, and would tie up 
my little insides into hard, achy knots, if I ate 
too much, I just didn’t believe them at all. 
You see, there was no old chap around to tell 
me stories of the mistakes he’d made when he 
was a youngster. There wasn’t anyone to warn 
me, as I can warn you.” 

“What did you do?” asked the Star Baby 
who was known to be the biggest eater of the 
lot. 

“I climbed up into the big cupboard where 
the great cheeses were kept,” said the Man in 
the Moon, “and there I sat on a shelf, and ate, 
and ate, and ate, and ate green cheese — ate till 
I very nearly burst! Oh my, but I thought I 
was happy. I was — right then. But — 
later ” A deep sigh of sympathy and un- 

derstanding went up from all the Star Babies. 
Too well they knew what happened to him 
later! It had happened to them, too! 

“Well, well — there’s no use in the sky telling 
unpleasant things,” said the Man in the Moon 
sadly. “And I assure you the night that fol- 
lowed was most unpleasant. After it, the big 
stars almost all thought I had been punished 
quite enough. But the strictest one said, “No!” 

He said, “Punishment? Rubbish! Children 


The Green Cheese 


105 


don’t rememebr stomach aches a week! He’ll be 
stuffing as badly as ever in ten days if he’s not 
punished some other way. We’d better do it. 
they didr 

“How?” gasped the Star Babies. 

“They gave me nothing to eat for days and 
days but just green cheese! Now, youngsters, 
don’t twinkle and grin at me like that! It was 
no joke. No matter how much you like a 
thing, you don’t want to always eat that, and 
nothing else. The very morning after you have 
had too much green chese — or green anything 
else — you don’t want to have it to eat and to smell 
and to carry around in your pockets, do you?” 

Watching, the Man in the Moon saw every 
Star Baby give a great shudder, and all shook 
their little heads, hard! 

“But I had to do just that,” he went on. “No 
nice, hot, comforting milk toast for my break- 
fast! They said if I wanted green cheese so 
much, and wouldn’t believe what grown stars 
said it would do to me, why green cheese I 
should have and plenty of it. I had it. I can 
tell you, inside of ten days I never wanted to 
see another green cheese as long as I lived. 
And, worst of all, the thing had got to be 
known all over the sky! Everybody teased me 


106 Stories of Little Star Babies 

about it. Everybody asked me if I wanted 
more, and had I had enough, and how I liked 
it, and bits of cheese were sent to me by mail, 
and left on my pillow and even put into my 
soap dish, so when I went to wash my hands I 
got them well smeared with cheese instead of 
soap! I had green cheeses given me on birth- 
days and Christmasses — ^why, even the people 
who were beginning to live down on the Earth 
Star found out about it after a while, and 
started the silly notion that my moon was made 
of green cheese! What do you think of that? 
It made me angry. But there wasn’t any help 
in that! The story stuck! The cheese stuck! 
I hate the sound of the very word, but I’m tied 
to it for my whole life, I guess. And there 
isn’t a thing that I can do.” 

There was silence for a minute. Then, 
^‘That wasn’t the very cheerfullest kind of a 
story, was it?” asked the oldest Star Baby. 

“It was not,” said the Man in the Moon. 
“But useful, maybe.” The Star Babies looked 
at him from under their downy golden eye- 
brows. They began to suspect him of knowing 
more than they had thought he knew — and of 
telling that particular story that particular day, 
on purpose! 


The Green Cheese 


107 


But the wise ones had all made up their 
minds they’d never let him know they sus- 
pected, when the greedy Star Baby spoiled 
everything by saying with a deep sigh, “Well, 
you can just better believe I’ll never eat myself 
sick on green cheese any more — and I guess 
none of the other Star Babies will, either — will 
you?” 

At which everybody began to laugh, the Man 
in the Moon the hardest of all. And the story 
time ended in a romp, until everyone was all 
tired out and ready for sleep. 

But nevertheless the Star Babies remembered 
the story of the Man in the Moon and his green 
cheese. 

Remembered it so well, that it is said there 
are no babies anywhere, earth, sky or water, 
who are so good at believing grown folks when 
they tell them what they must eat — and espe- 
cially, what they mustn’t! 


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WHEN GRANDMOTHER WAS A 
LITTLE GIRL STORIES 


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THE CAT WHO ADOPTED A FOX 


^‘When I was a little girl,” said Grand- 
mother, “we lived near the great woods, and 
there were still plenty of wild animals in those 
woods, and a few Indians, too. We had plenty 
of venison those days. 

“All my six big brothers had to do was to go 
hunting for it. And we had hear meat, too, but it 
wasn’t nearly so good. I thought it too strong, 
and generally too stringy, but I loved venison. 

“The men and boys just had to kill all the 
foxes and wolves they could, for our chickens, 
and lambs, and calves, and we ourselves, had 
to be protected. But one day, when my 
brothers, Ben and Martin, came home, they 
brought with them the dearest little baby fox. 

“He was a wee thing, whose mother they 
had killed. And they were so sorry for her 
baby, Ben put him in his pocket, and when he 
saw me, told me to find the present he had 
brought me. 

“I squealed with delight when I found that 
funny, little, round, bright-eyed ball of fur! 

“My old cat, Samantha, had just had a fam- 
ily of kittens, four of them, and mother let her 


112 When Grandmother Was a Girl 

keep them in the loft above the kitchen, as the 
weather was pretty chilly. It was a big loft, 
a sort of store room, with only one piece of 
furniture in it, a tall old chest of drawers. 

“My baby fox was so tiny, Ben said I had 
better give him to Samantha, and see if she 
would mother him. So, after petting him, and 
naming him Reynard, I took him up and put 
him down in the basket beside her. 

“At first, Samantha ruffled up her fur at the 
little stranger, and rolled back her lips in any 
but a motherly way. 

“But the little blind kittens didn’t know him 
from their brothers and sisters, and rolled all 
over him, and cuffed him with their soft little 
paws, and he cuffed back, and pretty soon 
Samantha poked at him with her nose, and then 
felt of him with her paw. Then she rolled 
him over on his fat back, and began to wash 
him. She licked him all over, from the tip 
of his sharp little nose to the end of his pretty 
tail, and Ben said that showed she had adopted 
him, so I was very happy. 

“And, sure enough — next time I crept up to 
look, Samantha was giving Reynard his dinner, 
right along with the rest of her family! 

“Every day I went up to play with the fox 


The Cat Who Adopted a Fox 


113 


and the kittens, and very soon the little cats 
had their eyes open and were tumbling around 
and having the best kind of times, their foster 
brother seeming to be a great favorite with the 
whole cat family. 

“But soon the trouble began — he was too 
much of a favorite! What do you think? That 
naughty old Samantha soon loved him better 
than she did her own children! 

“Mother was the first to find it out. The 
kittens began to set up a pitiful mewing, and 
she thought they seemed too thin for such little 
mites, so she began to watch quietly. And what 
do you think she found out? 

“Samantha was starving her own children, 
so Reynard should have enough to eat! 

“Of course, the baby fox was much bigger 
than the baby cats, and needed more food, and 
could go farther to get it, too. So he and 
Samantha had found out that they could both 
jump to the top of the old chest of drawers, 
but that the kittens couldn’t. 

“When mother found out the truth, she called 
us all, and we crept up the kitchen stairs and 
looked. It was such a funny sight! There, on 
top of the bureau, lay Samantha, giving Rey- 
nard his dinner, and washing his pretty fur 


114 When Grandmother Was a Girl 

so proudly, while below, in a most unhappy 
row, stood her own four kittens. They were 
drawn up in a line in front of the bureau, and 
every little pair of fore-legs was braced, every 
little tail just quivered with longing for dinner, 
every little head was thrown far back so they 
could see, and every little pink throat was 
opened wide to let out the pitiful yowls that 
said, “Oh, mother, mother, please come and 
feed us — we are so very, very hungry.” 

“We laughed. It was ever so funny. But 
it was pathetic, too, and it made mother very 
angry with Samantha. She took her down and 
cuffed her, and told her what she thought of 
her, and held her in her basket with her own 
children. Then, too, from that day, she began 
feeding Reynard with saucers of milk, and 
bowls of mush, so he shouldn’t rob the kittens. 
But still he and Samantha liked to get away 
from the family and be by themselves, on top 
of the bureau, and I used to go up and chase 
them down a dozen times a day. 

“Then Reynard started something new. At 
noon, when I came in from school, mother said, 
‘Lucy, go and see what new prank Reynard is 
up to. Those poor kittens have had fits of the 
most dreadful howling all morning, but I have 


The Cat Who Adopted a Fox 115 

had so much baking, I haven’t gone to see 
what was the matter.’ 

“Just then the howls started again, with 
another sound — as if something was being 
dragged across the rough boards of the floor. 

“I went quiety and stuck my head up into 
the loft, and looked. What do you think that 
naughty fox was doing He had taken the head 
of one of the kittens carefully in his mouth, and 
was amusing himself by dragging it up and 
down the floor, while the poor thing cried, and 
Samantha, from the top of the chest of draw- 
ers, looked calmly down, seeming proud as 
Punch at this last clever trick of her wonderful 
adopted child! From the look of the heads 
of the other kittens, I decided they had all had 
their share of Reynard’s new game. 

“Of course, I rescued the kitten, who wasn’t 
really hurt at all, Reynard had held it so care- 
fully, and punished him. ‘We must stop that,’ 
said mother. But stop it we couldn’t. Over 
and over, when the dragging and the yowling 
would start, mother or I would fly to the stairs, 
call out, ‘Reynard — stop it!’ and he would — 
for a few minutes! When we punished him, 
he’d just look up at us as much as to say, ‘Why 
make such a fuss when I’m careful as can be, 


116 When Grandmother Was a Girl 

and am having such a heap of fun? You know 
Tm not really hurting the silly kittens. They 
just howl because they’re scared.’ 

“Samantha seemed to agree with him. She 
really spit at me one day, when I rescued the 
littlest kitten, and gave Reynold a switching! 

“That was the end of things. Mother said she 
wouldn’t have such an unnatural mother as Sa- 
mantha around the house, and that Reynard was 
getting too big for a pet, too, and they both must 
go. I cried and begged, but it did me no good. I 
had to get along with the poor, abused little kit- 
tens — who needed petting badly enough of course 1 

“Reynard, the boys .took far away into the 
woods, and turned loose. He was plenty big 
enough to look after himself by that time. And 
Samantha was given to a farmer far away, who 
wanted a good mouser — which Samantha cer- 
tainly was. Cats are apt not to stay in a new home. 
But Samantha did. We never saw her again. 
Mother said she didn’t have any proper affection 
at all, neglecting her children first, and then for- 
getting her home. But I used to like to think that 
she and Reynard had found each other, and were 
having good times together off in the woods 
somewhere. I missed them both, and never had 
another pet as funny as my bad little fox.” 


SAVING snowball: 


^This,” said Grandmother, ‘^is a story they tell 
about me. I myself remember very little about 
it. I was not four years old when it happened, 
but I have heard it told so many times, IVe al- 
ways felt as if I remembered it all perfectly. 

“In those days I had a wee little white kit- 
ten, that I called Snowball. I loved her very 
dearly, for I had been very lonely before she 
came. I had six of the best brothers any girl 
ever had, but they were all a good deal older 
than I, always busy either in school or on the 
farm, and we lived far from any other chil- 
dren, our nearest neighbors having only grown 
sons and daughters. So I had played with the 
baby chicks and the lambs, and my brothers’ 
dogs, until one day Ben, who had been to the 
mill to have wheat ground into flour, came 
home from the long trip, and called to me that 
he had brought me a present. When I climbed 
to the high wagon bed, there, curled up asleep 
between the sacks of flour, was a pretty little 
white kitten, with a blue ribbon on her neck. 

“That was the way Snowball came to me, and 
I really do remember my joy when I saw her. 


118 When Grandmother Was a Girl 

^‘Well, not so very long after Snowball came 
that day, our house caught fire. My biggest 
brother, Joel, woke up, to find his room full 
of smoke, and tumbled out of bed calling, 
“Fire! Fire! Fire!” at the top of his lungs. 
There were no steam engines then, and no hand 
engines, either. The only way to put a fire out 
was for men to make lines from the well or 
the cistern, to the fire, with one man to draw the 
water, passing the buckets from hand to hand 
down the line of men, till it got to those nearest 
the fire, who threw it onto the flames. 

“Of course, you can see that was a very slow 
way, and didn’t do a great deal of good. When 
houses caught fire in those days, they generally 
burned right down to the ground. 

“Of course, everybody knew that, and there 
was a great rushing about to save all the things 
possible, while there was time. 

“Joel rushed into my room the very first, and 
I woke up in his arms, all wrapped in my 
quilts, with a great light in my sleepy eyes, and 
queer scary sounds in my ears. 

“I asked Joel what the matter was, but he 
didn’t seem to hear, just ran down the stairs 
with me, and out across' the yard, to a house 
not far away, where some people named Hunter 


Saving Snowball 


119 


lived. I do remember how Mrs. Hunter 
looked when she put out her arms and took me 
from Joel — she was so funny! She had on a 
short, wide nightgown, with a buffalo robe over 
her shoulders, her best shoes on her feet, and a 
wonderful bonnet her husband had brought her, 
after his last trip to town, on her head, right 
over her checked gingham nightcap 1 

“She explained afterward that she thought 
at first it was their house that was burning, and 
she had made sure of saving the shoes and the 
hat the very first thing. 

“Well, Mrs. Hunter put me on the bed in 
her room, and thought I went right back to sleep 
again. But I didn’t. I was too wide awake by 
that time — and I had remembered something. 

“Of course, all the Hunters ran over to help 
my people save their furniture and clothes, and 
keep the other buildings from burning down, 
and I was quite alone in the house. 

“It was Mother who found I had not gone 
back to sleep. She went over to the Hunters, 
with her arms full of the precious sheets and 
towels that she herself had spun and woven and 
hemmed for her wedding, and pretty soon she 
came running back, all white and frightened, 
to the place where the men were working. 


120 When Grandmother Was a Girl 

crying, ‘Lucy — where is Lucy?’ 

“‘All safe, Mother,’ said Joel; ‘I took her 
over to the Hunters’ myself.’ 

“ ‘And I put her safe to bed,’ said Mrs. 
Hunter, picking up a pile of quilts that had 
been thrown from a window. 

“ ‘But she isn’t there,” poor mother wailed. 
‘I’ve just been to see, and she’s gone.’ 

“ ‘Now, now, mother, she must be safe, you 
know,’ comforted Joel. ‘She is very likely just 
hanging around to see the fire, and won’t be 
any the worse, except for a cold.’ 

“But Mother was sure her baby was back 
in the burning house. So sure, the others grew 
frightened, too. 

“By that time it was dangerous to go inside, 
but Joel was getting ready to go and look for 
me, when Ben cried suddenly, ‘Look!’ 

“The front door was open, and the stairs 
right opposite it, and by this time the fire was 
lighting up the whole inside of the house, and 
as they looked, there I came, in my long white 
nightgown, walking down the stairs, that were 
beginning already to burn, as cooly as if there 
was nothing unusual going on at all! 

“Everyone gasped, and the boys all started 
towards me, but father cried, ‘Stand back — don’t 


Saving Snowball 


121 


frighten her, or she may turn and run upstairs 
again — she’ll, come out safely.’ And then he 
called me: ^Lucy — Lucy— hurry here to father.’ 

“I hurried. It seems to me as if I could 
remember it all — the row of white, frightened 
faces, and the flames and the noise, and won- 
dering why everybody looked so queer, and why 
they were making such a fuss. 

“Then I was out amongst them, and mother 
and father were trying to hold me tight at the 
very same time, and Joel was crying, ‘Why did 
you come back, when I’d carried you safely out?’ 

“They say I shook my little finger in his face 
and answered, ‘Because you were a bad boy. 
You forgotted Snowball, and I just had to go 
back after her.’ 

“And there, sure enough, was Snowball, held 
tight in my arms, all drowsy with smoke! She 
had been asleep in my room, and I had gotten 
to her just in time to save her! 

“It always seemed, too, as if she understood 
what I had done for her that night. As long 
as she lived, she was the most devoted of cats, 
following me about like a dog, and grieving 
herself thin whenever I went away on a visit. 
I firmly believe that Snowball was the prettiest 
and cleverest and the best cat that ever lived.” 


THE STORY OF OLD RANGER 


“Once upon a time,” said Grandmother, 
“when I was a small girl, we had a good old 
dog named Ranger. My father and mother 
had traveled all the way from Massachusetts to 
Ohio, in great carts drawn by oxen, taking their 
family of six small boys with them, and Ranger 
had come with them all the way, so they were 
very fond of him. 

“I was born after the family came to Ohio. 
And they had been able to bring such a little 
bit of furniture with them, because they had to 
carry everything in those carts, it being long, 
long before people thought of railways, that my 
cradle was — what do you think? The hollowed 
trunk of a tree! 

“Well, of course everybody loved Ranger, 
and he was exactly like a member of the family. 
My, my, I can remember now how mother and 
I cried when he died — and father and the boys 
nursed him night after night while he was sick! 

“But of all people, he loved my mother best, 
and one summer, when she was taken with a 
fever, he seemed to understand just how wor- 
ried we all were. He would go day after day 


The Story of Old Ranger 123 

and lie by mother’s bed, watching her, and 
looking as though he just longed to do some- 
thing to help her. 

“She did not get well as we hoped she would, 
and nothing else seemed to go right, either. It 
was a dreadful summer. All our crops were 
ruined that year, and many people suffered. 
For months there was not a drop of rain. 
Things withered in the fields, and even in the 
heart of the dense woods, everything was dried 
up, dusty — almost dead. It was a hard time in 
which to gain strength, and mother didn’t. 

“The doctor, when he came, sitting up be- 
tween his saddle bags on his old gray horse, 
grayer than ever with the dust, told her she 
must eat. But there was nothing that she 
wanted. The boys tried to think of something 
nice for her, and at last she said she thought, if 
she just had some squirrel stew, maybe she 
could eat that. You see, we had a great deal of 
game then, and she had always been fond of it. 

“Well, my father took his gun and went out, 
and the boys hunted, too. But it was so hot and 
dry that everything that could leave that part of 
the country had gone, long ago. The woods 
were very strange and still. Not a wild thing 
moved in them, and father and the boys came 


124 When Grandmother Was a Girl 


home without having found anything for 
mother. And she could eat so very little, and 
she slept hardly at all, and she was getting thin- 
ner and whiter all the time, and we were all 
very much frightened about her. 

“It was after my biggest brother, Joel, came 
in without anything in his game bag, that father 
was sitting out on the porch, and Ranger came 
to him. Ranger was then quite an old dog, and 
he did seem to understand so much. Father 
said Ranger came and put both paws up on his 
knees and looked straight into his face, and 
father took the dog’s dear old head in his hands 
and said, ‘Ranger, I’m very sad. You^r mistress 
is very sick. Your mistress wants a squirrel, 
and we can’t find her one anywhere.’ 

“Old Ranger whined and rubbed his head 
against my father’s hands, and father said over 
again, ‘Yes, Ranger, Mistress wants a squirrel.’ 

“Ranger got ' down, barked once, and went 
right out of the gate as fast as ever he could go. 

“Nobody thought anything of that. But 
when, at night, he was not there to bring the 
poor, thin cows up from pasture, where they 
tried all day to nibble at the dried-up grass, we 
wondered about him. And when we went to 
bed and Ranger was not home yet, we were a 


125 


The Story of Old Ranger 

little frightened. In the morning, he was still 
missing, and the day went on and on and 
Ranger never came. Mother, too, was worse 
that day, and still there was no rain, and it 
seemed to all of us as if the world was a very 
dreadful place, and we wouldn’t much care if 
we did not have to go on living in it. 

“It was almost evening when my father, who 
had come out to sit on the porch again for a little, 
while Ben stayed with mother, saw a tired, dusty, 
limping little figure turn in at the big gate. 

“It was a dog — a strange dog, father thought, 
until suddenly as it came nearer, he saw, 
through all the dust that made his black coat 
dirty yellow, that it was our Ranger! 

“Straight up to the porch he came, hardly 
able to walk, and though father spoke, he didn’t 
stop. He just looked at him, and went on, into 
mother’s room, and put his forepaws on the bed, 
and laid down beside her a big, plump, fine 
young squirrel! 

“Then, with a great sigh, he just lay down 
right there, and went sound asleep, and though 
everybody who came near the bed had to step 
over him, he wasn’t disturbed for hours! 

“Sick as she was, mother was interested, and 
so surprised. And Susan, our cook, came and 


126 When Grandmother Was a Girl 

took the squirrel and just as soon as ever she 
could, had him made up into the nicest broth 
you ever tasted, and, while we all sat around 
and watched in wonder and joy, mother ate a 
good big dish of it! 

“Then she smiled at us, and at old Ranger, 
and she, too, sighed and went sound asleep. 

“There they lay, while we watched them, and 
suddenly we heard a little sound — a sound we 
had almost forgotten! We looked at each other 
in surprise and then Ben tip-toed to the win- 
dow, looked, put out his hand, and nodded as 
if he could hardly believe what he had seen and 
felt. It was — it really was — raining! The 
great drought was broken at last! 

“Our crops were almost' gone, but something 
might be saved. 

“And at least our poor, thin cows and hors:s 
wouldn’t die for lack of food. Gently, but 
steadily, the rain kept on. There was no thun- 
der or wind, to waken mother. She slept, and 
after a while, for the first time in weeks, every- 
body in the house was sound alseep, too. 

“I don’t believe that any farmer’s family ever 
slept so late as we all slept the next morning. 
Father said it was dreadful. And at that, it 
was Ranger who woke us — Ranger, whom we 


The Story of Old Ranger 


127 


found standing, wide awake, still dirty as could 
be, but not tired any more, with his paws on 
mother’s bed, and mother’s hand patting him, 
while he barked for joy! She was better — ever 
so much better! And she ate the rest of her 
squirrel stew, while we gave Ranger the best meal 
he ever had had in all hisjife, I guess. It was 
cooler, too, so that everybody felt better, and the 
trees and grass were greener, the earth smelled 
fresh and good, and there weren’t any dreadful 
clouds of dust sweeping up from the road. So we 
all decided that it was a pretty good world after 
all, and we wanted to live in it and be happy! 

^‘Mother got well fast after that. But she 
always said, and our doctor, too, when he heard 
the story, that it was Ranger who had cured 
her. And there was never a dog who had as 
good times as our old Ranger had, as long as 
he lived. You may be sure of that. 

“Where did he get the squirrel? Oh, that, 
of course, we never knew. He had hunted it 
and caught it all himself, and he must have 
traveled miles. His poor feet were sore and 
swollen for days. You see, he must have really 
understood what mother wanted, and started 
out on purpose to please her. And, I assure 
you, that this is a really, truly story, if ever 
there was one told in alb the world.” 


THE STORY OF FEATHER HEAD 


“When I was about ten years old,” said 
Grandmother, “a cousin of my mother’s came 
out from Vermont to what was then the far 
West — Ohio — to live with us. Her own people 
had all died, and she had started out all by her- 
self, to come to my mother, whom she had loved 
very dearly. 

“She was much younger than mother — about 
my big brother Ben’s age — and a queer sort of 
young woman, very brave in some ways, very 
silly in others. She had had a great many ad- 
ventures in getting to us, and we littler chil- 
dren, Charlie and Sam and Hiram and I, used 
to tease her to tell us stories of the strange 
things that had happened to her on her trip. 
But, oddly enough, one thing that she had ex- 
pected to happen, had not. On the whole jour- 
ney she had not even seen an Indian! But she 
talked about Indians a great deal. 

“When our family had first come to Ohio, 
there had still been plenty of Indians around 
us, and there had even been one time when the 
settlers had been very badly scared, and thought 
there might be trouble, and mother had filled 
the log cabin she and father lived in then, full 


The Story of Feather Head 129 

of things to eat, and he had got all the guns 
ready and kept the horses and cows in the barn 
yard for days, thinking there might be a fight. 
But now, though we saw Indians sometimes, 
they were as peaceful and quiet as could be. 

“There was one, a very old man, whom we 
children liked. He spoke a little English, and 
he made us bows and arrows, and brought game 
to the house, in return for which mother would 
feed him, and sometimes give him old clothes, 
in which we thought he looked very funny. 
For, even in father’s old trousers and shirts, he 
would wear his hair long, and with a blue 
feather in it, and he would put "paint on his 
face. He told us his name was Blue Feather, 
but somebody started calling him Feather Head, 
and he never seemed to mind, so we called him 
nothing else. He was a very tall old man, and 
he always wore a blanket. 

“Well, after Cousin Samantha came, we got 
to thinking more about Indians. She talked 
about them so much. On her long trip West, 
which had taken her weeks and weeks, though 
now it could be made in less than one day, she 
had heard of a great many dreadful things the 
Indians had done, and grown very much excited 
about them. I do believe that she was disap- 


130 When Grandmother Was a Girl 

pointed because nothing dreadful had happened 
to her. Not that she wanted to be caught and 
scalped — but she would have liked an exciting 
story to tell, in which she was the heroine. 

“She didn’t seem to like it when we said we 
hardly saw any Indians any more, and shook 
her head and said we’d better look out or we’d 
all be murdered in our beds some night. Which 
frightened me and made even the boys look a 
little queer, though mother seemed only angry. 

“Well, one day father and Ben and Joel, 
and Cyrus, the older boys, went off to help a 
neighbor who was going to put up a new barn. 
Everybody helped everybody else those days, 
and a ‘barn raising,’ as we called it, was gen- 
erally a lot of fun. But Sam and Hiram had 
had the measles, and mother feared I might 
have them, too, and so she stayed home with 
Cousin Samantha and Susan, our cook, and us 
little ones — Charlie being the oldest boy left. He 
was sixteen, and he felt very big and important 
at being the oldest man about. Father had said 
maybe he and the big boys wouldn’t be able to 
get home before morning. So no one was sur- 
prised when, at evening, they were still all 
away. We did the chores, and had supper, and 
Cousin Samantha took what today you’d call 


The Story of Feather Head 131 

the garbage pail, and started down to the reduc- 
tion plant of those times — the pig pen. People 
aren’t bothered with garbage when they have 
plenty of pigs! 

‘^Cousin Samantha had hardly been gone a 
minute, when up at the house we heard a dread- 
ful scream! My, but we were frightened! 

“We looked, and saw Samantha wasn’t killed 
at any rate. She was running toward us, with- 
out the bucket, her apron over her head, shriek- 
ing as she came. 

“People had to be prepared for trouble those 
days. 

“ ‘Charlie,’ said mother, ‘get down your 
father’s gun. Hiram, Sam, Lucy, shut the doors 
and windows and bolt them fast.’ 

“By the time Samantha got to the house, it 
was like a little fort, with the heavy shutters 
father had made for the windows, in place, and 
the candle out, so that nobody could see us, 
to shoot, if they wanted to do it. Mother 
pulled Samantha inside, and she fell in a heap 
on the floor, sobbing and wailing, and could 
hardly talk for some time. Then she told her 
story. The Indians had come at last! 

“Just as she had fed the pigs, a great, tall 
warrior had stalked up to her out of the shad- 


132 When Grandmother Was a Girl 

ows, and put out his hand to catch her. 
Behind him she saw the shadows of others, 
all like the first, in war paint and feathers. By 
a jump to one side, she had got away, and 
though the Indian chased her a few feet, call- 
ing after her, she had escaped. But he was 
still there — he and many more — all ready for 
the war path, and her words would come true. 
They very likely knew the men folks were away, 
and we’d all be dead by morning! We’d seel 
^Nonsense,’ said mother bravely. But her 
voice shook, too, and we knew she was more 
frightened than she would admit. 

“We looked out from a chink in the shutters, 
and all of us could indeed see a tall figure with 
wildly feathered head, skulking down the path 
from the pig pen. We were sure we saw other 
figures in the gathering shadows, as Samantha 
pointed them out. 

“ T can’t understand it,’ said mother. ‘We 
have never had cause to be frightened.’ 

“But Samantha said there was cause enough 
now, and big, strong Susan had a fit of hys- 
terics, and of course that set us children to cry- 
ing. Even Charlie looked as if he’d like to 
bawl like a real baby, though he didn’t. 

“Well, the truth of it is, that we made up our 


The Story of Feather Head 133 

minds not to go to bed that night at all. We 
got the two guns that were in the house and 
had them by us, all ready to shoot if need be, 
and mother got out the sword her grandfather 
had carried through the Revolutionary War, 
and told Susan and Samantha and me to get big 
knives. She had one gun, Charlie the other, 
and Hiram, who was fourteen and big for his 
age, had the sword, and Sam a hunting knife and 
a club. We were very warlike indeed that night. 

“After awhile, as nothing happened, we chil- 
dren drooped with sleep. But still the tall, 
fierce figure stood down there near the pig pen, 
and we could not go to bed. So we slept on the 
floor, while mother watched. After a bit, 
Samantha and Susan slept, too, then mother 
dropped off. She said afterward that she woke 
with a start, to find it cool, gray morning, and 
everybody looking so queer, lying around asleep 
on the floor, but alive, very much alive, by the 
way most of us snored! 

“Somehow, in the light of morning, the scare 
of the night before seemed silly to mother, who 
was a strong, sensible woman. She went to the 
front door, flung it open, and there, on the 
door-step, asleep too, was poor old Feather 
Head, with some gorgeous new feathers in his 


134 When Grandmother Was a Girl 


black hair, and some gorgeous fresh paint on 
his wrinkled old face, and his worn, ragged 
blanket around him! 

‘‘He woke as mother opened the door, and sat 
up very stiff. ‘Blue Feather hungry,’ he said; 
‘squaw run.’ 

“And then mother understood. Poor old 
Feather Head had not been to see us for weeks 
— not since Cousin Samantha had come. She 
had seen him in his paint and feathers and 
blanket — and that was the trouble in a nut shell! 

“ ‘You alone. Feather?’ asked mother, to be 
sure. 

“ ‘Alone,’ said the old man. ‘Last night I 
wait, but house all dark. No light ever. Blue 
Feather no like make trouble. Blue Feather 
wait. Blue Feather hungry.’ 

“He must have been a very much surprised 
Indian. For mother sat right down on the 
doorstep and laughed and laughed. She woke 
the rest of us up laughing, and it didn’t take 
much for us all to understand what had hap- 
pened, too, and we joined her — all but Cousin 
Samantha, of course. 

“She screamed again. ‘Is this your dreadful 
Indian, ManthyP’ asked mother, and she said 
it was. And we never, never could make 


135 


The Story of Feather Head 

Cousin Samantha see anything funny about the 
thing. And we never could get her to own up 
she had just imagined all the other Indians, 
and made us imagine them, too. 

‘‘When father got home, 'he was angry to 
think of the fright she had given us, but mother 
said nobody was the worse for it, not even Blue 
Feather, who had had the biggest breakfast of 
his life, and a whole lot of food to carry away. 

“Mother said Samantha couldn’t help it. That 
she had thought Indian so long, and been so dis- 
appointed because she’d had no Indian adven- 
tures that she just couldn’t help making one up. 

“But what do you think? That made Sa- 
mantha angry! She insisted she had not made 
it up. That there had been real danger! And 
she got so huffy about it all, that she actually 
accepted the invitation of a neighbor a few 
miles off to go and live with her. She never 
cared so much for mother again, and rarely 
came to see us. 

“But none of us ever heard the end of our 
fright over poor, quiet old Feather Head. It 
was a joke that stuck for years.” 



‘JUST ONE MORE” STORIES FOR 
LITTLE FOLKS 



THE BRAVEST FLOWER 


It was very quiet out in the deep, deep 
woods — and very cold and gloomy, too. There 
was still a little snow, and not a tree had started 
to put on its spring bonnet yet. 

But suddenly a tuft of moss cried out, 
‘What’s that? Something woke me? It sounds 
exactly as if someone was beginning to grow!” 

“Your ears are nearer the ground than mine,” 
said an old fir tree. “I heard nothing, but I’m 
sure, now you speak of it, I can see a little stir 
in the earth. Odd, isn’t it?” 

“Not at all,” cried a gay, sweet voice. “It’s 
me. I’m little, but I like to start things going, 
and I am so tired of the dark ground. A 
pleasant spring time to everybody!” 

And Trailing Arbutus thrust her pretty pink 
head out into the light. “My, my,” she went 
on, “it is good to be out in the world again. I 
hope I’ll have a chance to get well rooted this 
year. I like to oblige people, and give them 
my blossoms, but it is rather hard when they 
pull me up roots and all. It doesn’t seem fair, 
either.” 

“It’s not,” said the fir tree. “I’ll try and pro- 
tect you.” 


140 *^Just One More^^ Stories 

“And I’ll try and hide you,” said the moss. 

“Thanks,” said Trailing Arbutus. And she 
grew fast, and became very beautiful, and one 
day two children, a boy and a girl, saw her and 
ran up, shouting with joy. 

“Take my blossoms — you’re welcome,” cried 
the Trailing Arbutus, “but please look out for 
my roots — leave them to me so I can grow an- 
other year.” 

And the children must have heard her, for 
they picked their flowers very carefully, and not 
a single tiny root was pulled away from the earth ! 

“Oh, thank you — you’ve been very good to 
me,” cried the brave little plant after them. 
She felt very strong and very happy, though, 
of course, she missed her pink flowers. But 
when the trees and the moss began to scold be- 
cause the children had taken them, she laughed 
and told them to wait a bit — the woods would be 
so full of other flowers, they’d forget about her! 

And the other flowers came, of course, lots 
of them, and the woods were very gay, but 
Trailing Arbutus was wrong in one thing — 
the trees and the moss did not forget her. They 
just helped her grow strong, so she could give 
them her lovely pink flowers another spring. 
For they loved her the best of all. 


Robins^ Summer in Town 


141 


THE ROBINS’ SUMMER IN TOWN 

just simply cannot fly another inch,” said 
plump little Mrs. Robin as she gave a great sigh, 
and settled down on the tip of a telegraph pole. 

Mr. Robin frowned. “I told you you were 
getting too fat down South there,” he said. 
“But you just wouldn’t stop eating, no matter 
what I said. Now, what are we going to do? We 
can’t set up housekeeping in the center of a city.” 

“Why not, I’d like to know?” asked Mrs. 
Robin. “I’ve heard a lot about the conven- 
iences of city life. I’d very much like to try 
them. And I’m sure I see a lovely location 
for a home this very minute.” 

She fluttered over to a tall building, which 
had a ledge around it half way up. There on 
the ledge, behind a bit of carving, was a quiet, 
snug little nook. 

“Best place in the world,” she cried. “Solid, 
substantial, private, cat-proof, wind-proof — I’m 
going to stay.” 

“You’d better look out. You’ll find it’s food- 
proof, too, and lonely as can be,” grumbled Mr. 
Robin. But his pretty wife only turned up 
her bill at him and sniffed. 

“That is your lookout, not mine, dear,” she 


142 


^^Just One More'^ Stories 


said. “Here I am for the summer. Oh, hurry 
— there’s a beautiful start for the nest floating 
down this minute.” 

It was a small handkerchief. But small as 
it was, it was heavy for them. Still they caught 
it, and pulled it into their corner, to the great 
delight of the little girl who had dropped the 
handkerchief, and who was leaning much 
farther out of the window than she ought, to 
see what they would do with her property. 

When she understood, she made up her mind 
to help them some more, and the Robins found 
a great many wonderful things floating in the 
air, that made their home the handsomest and 
coziest they had ever had. 

“I told you there were many conveniences 
to city life,” said Mrs. Robin, happily, as she 
smiled up from the three blue-green eggs she 
had laid. “And don’t talk to me of fat — you’re 
fat as can be yourself.” 

“No wonder,” said her husband. “I don’t 
get enough outside exercise. With this market 
right over head, where I can go each day to 
pick from the window sill the things I like best, 
I am getting lazy. I ought to go out and dig 
worms oftener. But I’m very comfortable.” 

“So am I,” said Mrs. Robin. And so was 


Robins^ Summer in Town 


143 


the little girl, who watched them and fed them, 
and admired the lovely eggs, and waited as 
impatiently as the Robins themselves, for the 
time when the eggs would be baby birds. Of 
course she was disappointed when they first 
came — they were so ugly and had so few feath- 
ers. But they grew pretty very fast, and the 
ledge was a wonderful place for them to tumble 
out on, and try their downy wings, before they 
learned to fly. 

“Really, I’ll miss this home dreadfully,” said 
Mrs. Robin, as she lined her happy family up 
on the ledge that autumn, ready to fly away to 
the South. “I will, too,” said her husband. 
“That child has certainly been very good to us.” 

The little girl was at the window, and the 
whole family looked at her and said “Good- 
bye,” as well as robins could. “Good-bye — and 
thank you.” 

“You’re welcome — come again next year,” 
cried the little girl. 

“Maybe we will,” chirped Mrs. Robin. 

“One, two, three — go! commanded her hus- 
band. 

And the Robins were off for the South. 


144 


'^Just One More'^ Stories 

THE THREE WISHES 

One day a little girl caught a fairy. Of 
course he did not like being caught at all, and 
said that if she would only let him go, he 
would give her three wishes. 

“Oh, goody, goody!” cried the little girl, who 
had been rather glum and gloomy all that day. 
“Then I wish to be Blanche Brown. She has 
such stacks and stacks of pretty clothes, and 
mother says I can have only one new dress 
this year.” 

And — pop — snap — there she was — Blanche 
Brown! 

But to her great surprise, she found that the 
pretty clothes didn’t pay for the great care she 
had to take of them, the scolding she got if they 
were the least bit torn or dirty, and the good 
times she missed while wearing them. 

So she called back her fairy, and said to him, 
“Please, sir, it is time for my second wish. I’m 
tired of being Blanche Brown. Let me be 
Molly Miller. She is so pretty and has such 
lovely curls.” 

So, sure enough, she found that she was 
Molly Miller. But Molly Miller’s beautiful 
curls hurt very much more when they were 


The Three Wishes 


145 


combed than the little girl’s own bobbed hair 
did, and they had to be combed very often, too. 
And she had quite" forgotten how much Molly 
Miller’s mother stayed away from home, and 
what a very silent, scowly father she had. The 
little girl’s own father and mother were very 
nice people, indeed, and great home folks. 

So the little girl once more called to her fairy 
and said, “Please, sir, it is wishing time again. 
After all, I don’t like being Molly Miller. Let 
me be Sylvia St. Clair. She has such a beauti- 
ful name, and no brothers or sisters to tease her, 
and a maid to wait on her.” 

And there she was — Sylvia St. Clair! 

But very soon she found the name didn’t 
count, and she was horribly lonesome, and the 
maid, tagging along at her heels all the time, 
bothered her dreadfully. So the little girl be- 
gan to call for her fairy again, and he came, 
but he was scowling, much as Molly Miller’s 
father scowled. 

“You’ve had your three wishes,” he said. 
“They’re all used up.” 

And the little girl was so scared she sat 
down hard, right on the . ground, and though 
it hurt her, she never thought of crying. 

For the fairy was right! Her wishes were all 


146 ^^Just One More^^ Stories 

used up, and — she wanted most dreadfully to 
be herself again! 

“I — I — I wish rd never had any wishes!” 
cried the little girl. And the fairy jumped. 
“How under the sun did you know the only 
words that would get you out of your scrape?” 
he asked in great surprise. 

But the little girl hadn’t time to answer him. 
She was herself again, and so happy she for- 
got the fairy. So, of course, he vanished right 
away, and she never saw him any more — but 
she didn’t seem to mind a bit! 


A STORY OF THE DANDELIONS 

Long, long ago, when the world was young, 
the fairies were busy giving the flowers their 
names, and arranging places for them to grow, 
so that they would be distributed evenly over 
the world. 

Of course, most of the flowers wanted open, 
sunny, warm places to live, and the fairies 
wished to please everybody, so let them have 
their way. For the lilies-of-the-valley, pansies 
and violets and columbine were willing to take 
shady places, and the whole fern family spoke 


A Story of the Dandelions 147 

for damp, dark spots, and there were water 
lilies and cat-tails for the ponds. 

“But,” cried one fairy suddenly, “everybody 
has forgotten about the dusty, dirty places! 
Plenty of flowers want to grow by country road- 
sides. But nobody has chosen city back yards, 
and vacant lots, and grubby, uncomfortable, 
dry places like those!” 

“Of course not — who would?” asked a proud 
white lily. 

“You’ll have to invent a new flower for such 
places,” laughed a big red rose, flaunting her 
lovely leaves from a carefully tended garden. 

“We can’t do that,” said the fairies. And 
they felt very sad indeed. For they knew that 
in the driest, dustiest, homeliest places are flow- 
ers needed most. 

But suddenly a very little fairy had a very 
bright idea. “Let’s turn ourselves into flow- 
ers,” she cried, “and go and grow in the dusty 
places ourselves. And let’s choose the cheeriest 
color there is — yellow, the color of sunshine! 
We’ll grow up in the most deserted places the 
first thing in the spring, and bloom there all 
summer, and do the best we can to make things 
pretty and bright.” 

“You are dear good fairies,” said their queen, 


148 ^*Just One More*^ Stories 

‘^and it is a very wonderful idea. Do it. You 
shall have your sunshine color. And Fll make 
your leaves good to eat, so you’ll be useful as 
well as ornamental. And I’ll give you queer, 
hollow stems, that children can roll up into 
curls to play with. And I’ll arrange it so you 
shall be lovely always. I won’t allow you to 
wither like other flowers. In reward for the 
work that you will do in the world, I’ll ar- 
range for you to grow old beautifully, and turn to 
fluffy balls of white, almost as pretty as your yel- 
low flowers, and then you shall just blow away, 
and vanish on the wind, as fairies should.” 

And so the fairy queen arranged it. A whole 
regiment of fairies volunteered for flower duty, 
and spring and summer and autumn you can see 
them, smiling with cheery, golden faces, or 
dotting the grass with fairy balls of fluffy white. 

And in Fairy Land, they say the Fairies of 
the Dandelion Corps are the merriest, happiest 
elves there are! 

THE DISCONTENTED TADPOLE 

A silly little Tadpole sat down one day, and^ 
cried till the pool in which he lived grew so 
big it overflowed its banks! 


The Discontented Tadpole 149 

“Mercy me, what’s wrong” asked Grand- 
father Frog, who had charge of all the children 
in that pool. 

“I don’t like being a t-t-tad-p-p-pole — I 
w-want to be a f-f-frog!” wailed the little 
fellow. 

Grandfather Frog wanted to laugh, but he 
frowned at him instead. “Keep still — you 
don’t know what is good for you,” he said. 
“Stay young while you can, and whatever you 
do, be happy.” 

But the silly Tadpole cried still harder, and 
fretted and worked at his little tadpole tail, till 
he really and truly did turn into a grown-up 
frog, long before the others of his age! 

He was so very proud, that he jumped up 
on the bank to show the other young tadpoles, 
who had to stay in the water, how very big 
he was, and how clever. He strutted about and 
showed off before them, till suddenly he saw 
them all dodge down and hide beneath the 
water. A boy was coming! 

The discontented Tadpole tried to dodge, 
too, but he couldn’t. He had known perfectly 
well how to use his tail, but these long, wabbly 
frog legs of his were strange, and didn’t do the 
things he wished them to do very quickly. He 


150 


^^Just One More'^ Stories 


tried to dodge, he tried to jump beneath the 
nice, cool, safe water — but he couldn’t! 

The boy just leaned down and picked him 
up, as easily as could be! 

‘‘Why, what a nice young frog,” said the boy. 
“I guess I’ll take him along home with me, 
and put him in my old gold fish globe, and 
keep him.” 

“Oh, don’t — please don’t!” wailed the Tad- 
pole. “I’m not really a frog yet — I’m just a 
frightened baby tadpole — please let me go!” 

The boy didn’t hear, or understand, but old 
Grandfather Frog did, and was sorry for the 
frightened, naughty little chap. 

So, with a great croak he came splashing up 
to the top of the pool, startling the boy so, 
he didn’t hold the Tadpole very tight. 

With one great, joyful flop the Tadpole got 
away, and dived straight into the heart of the 
pool, and thanked old Grandfather Frog, till 
he just couldn’t thank him any more. 

And he became the quietest, finest young frog 
in all the pool so that everybody was very 
proud of him. 

And there wasn’t a frog in the whole place, 
or a tadepole, either, who didn’t listen breath- 
lessly to his story of how he was caught — and 


The Doll Who Ran Away 151 

got away again. He told it often, so the other 
tadpoles would behave themselves and not try 
to grow up too fast. 

THE DOLL WHO RAN AWAY 

A doll and a kitten were once very good 
friends. They were both young and gay and 
pretty. But the doll would often sigh, and 
say, “I am not quite happy. My little mother 
fusses over me too much sometimes, and spanks 
me too much other times. And then I want to 
travel. I want to see the world. Fd like to 
go around as you do, or to live somewhere else 
for a while. Won’t you help me, kitty?” 

^T’ll do the best I can for you,” said the 
kitten. can take you somewhere else.” 

And he caught her dress up in his teeth, and 
so carried her into a big oak tree, and set her 
on one of the strong branches, in a hollow right 
by the trunk of the tree. A safe and pretty seat. 

“Oh my, but I do like this so much,” said the 
doll. “I can make friends with the squirrels 
and the birds, and watch the leaves dancing, 
and the sunlight making pictures on the tree 
trunk — this is a wonderful place. Go home 
now? No, indeed! Not for a long time!” 


152 ^^Just One More^^ Stories 

“All right/’ said the kitten. “Glad you’re 
pleased. I have some business to attend to. 
Guess I’ll run along. Bye-bye.” 

“Good-bye,” said the happy dolly. And she 
spent two lovely days and two pleasant, warm 
starry nights in her tree home, while her poor 
little mother hunted her, and cried to think she 
was lost. 

But — on the third day things changed. There 
was a storm. The wind shook the old tree 
till it groaned, and the swinging of the branches 
made the poor dolly very sea-sick. Then the 
rain came. Great sheets of it, and wet the dolly 
through and through, right to the center of her 
sawdust body. The squirrels and birds were all 
at home. She was alone, and wet, and fright- 
ened, and sick, and sore. 

“I want to go home,” wailed the poor doll. 
But the kitten, who had tried to take her home 
just a few hours before and been told, “Go 
away and don’t bother me,” was now sleeping, 
all nice and warm, in his little mistress’ lap. 

“Oh,” wailed the dolly. “I did have such a 
nice home, and such a beautiful brass bed, with 
such soft pillows, and a real silk comforter, and 
my mother was so very good to me. I wish she 
could fuss over me now, and kiss me^-or even 
spank me! I’m sure I need a spanking.” 


Dickey* s Friend 


153 


“Very well,” said the old oak tree, “I can 
give you that.” And “swish” — he did spank 
that dolly, so hard she feel out of the tree way 
down to the ground, and bumped her nose 
dreadfully! 

But — not long after she fell to the wet 
ground, the storm passed, and her little mother 
came out, and saw her. 

“Oh, my poor lost child,” she cried. And she 
picked the unhappy doll up and cuddled her 
and kissed, and took her home and dried her, 
and fed her and put her to bed. 

Such a warm, happy doll as woke up next 
morning! 

“Next time,” said the kitten, “I’ll take you 
to a tree where there is a bird house, and you 
can go in there when it rains.” 

“There won’t be any next time,” said the 
dolly. “Now I know when I’m well off. I 
have a good home and I’ll stay in it forever, 
thank you!” 

And she did. 

DICKEY’S FRIEND 

Dickey was a very pretty little yellow canary, 
with a beautiful voice. He had a very dear 


154 ^^Just One More** Stories 

friend, but you couldn’t guess who that friend 
was, if you tried for days and days. 

It was Tommy, the big gray cat! 

How Dickey and Tom became such friends 
nobody could guess. But everybody who knew 
them soon found out that it was true, and used 
to wonder at it very much. 

Tom, every morning when he came up from 
the basement, where he slept in a basket that 
was cuddled into a warm corner beside the 
furnace, would go straight to Dickey’s golden 
cage and rub himself against it, and say, “Good 
morning, sir. Hope you slept well last night?” 
Only of course to everybody but Dickey it 
sounded like nothing but “Meau-mew-mew 
meau?” 

And Dickey would answer with all his pret- 
tiest trills of song, shaking his tail and throw- 
ing out his little yellow breast in the happiest 
sort of way, and of course he meant, “Very 
well, thank you — and you, too, I hope? My, 
but it is nice to have a big, strong, furry friend 
like you, Thomas.” 

And then Tom would sit down and wash his 
face, and purr at Dickey, and Dickey would 
preen his feathers and bob his head at Tom, and 
everybody, watching them, would laugh, and 


Dickey^ 5 Friend 


155 


say what a strange but lovely friendship it was. 

So things went till one day in the summer, 
when the door of Dickey’s cage came open 
somehow — the outside door of the house was 
open, too — and before anybody knew what was 
happening, little Dickey had flown away up 
into a tree top and was singing his happy heart 
out, there in the sunshine. 

Of course it was nice for him to be free, but 
— canary birds do not know how to take care of 
themselves, and get things to eat, and the little 
girl who owned him said, “Oh, dear me, Dickey 
will go away and starve, I know he will, and I 
just can’t bear that.” 

She took his cage and made it nice and clean, 
and put in a fresh bunch of chickweed, which 
Dickey loved ,and lots of clean water and new 
seed, and left the door wide open. But silly 
Dickey would not go inside. He was free, and 
free he meant to stay! 

But all of a sudden — there was Tom, walking 
daintily along the branch toward him! Dickey 
preened his feathers and sang the song of wel- 
come he always gave to Tom. But somebody 
down below said, “Now we’ll see how far this 
wonderful friendship goes. Tom will eat that 
bird in a jiffy!” 


156 ** Just One More'' Stories 

“He won’t!” the said the little girl who 
owned them both. 

Closer and closed crept Tom to the little 
yellow bird, and then, when just beside him, he 
sat down on the branch, and — howled! 

It wasn’t a nice, quiet “mew.” It was a reg- 
ular yowl! And Dickey looked scared, and 
guilty, and sorry, and he gave two or three 
queer, frightened little chirps, and then — he 
spread his wings and flew straight down, and 
right into the door of his cage, and went into 
his swing, and sat there, a mere ball of yellow 
feathers, with little frightened “Cheep-cheeps” 
coming out of it! 

“There,” cried their mistress, “I told you so! 
Whatever did you say to him. Tommy, dear?” 

But Tom answered never a word. He just 
came down, and began to purr around the cage 
as usual, till Dickey stopped sulking and sang to 
him again. They both knew what he had said, 
and that was enough for them! 

THE FLOWER PRINCESS 

Once there was a princess. She was young 
and beautiful and sweet, and everybody seemed 
to love her, but she lost her kingdom, and then 


The Flower Princess 157 

no one was kind to her any more, and it nearly 
broke her heart. 

One good friend she had left, a big, kindly 
soldier, who had guarded her and loved her 
since she had been a little baby, and who loved 
her more than ever, now she needed him so much. 

^‘No one shall ever hurt you,” he promised 
her. ‘‘I’ll protect you with my life’s blood.” 

“We will never be separated,” said the prin- 
cess, smiling through her tears. And bravely 
they went out into the world together. 

But they had a very hard time, and at last 
the princess sat down in the woods, beneath a 
tree, and said, “I feel as if I could not go any 
farther. Go on without me. By yourself you can 
win success and happiness again, my Soldier.” 

But the big, gruff old Soldier would not. 
Again he promised, “I’ll protect you with my 
life’s blood always,” and as he promised a beau- 
tiful, wonderful thing happened! Before them 
appeared a whole band of shining fairies, with 
the Queen of the Fairies hovering in the air 
just before the little princess. 

“We cannot help you as mortals,” said the 
Queen, “but we are so sorry for you, that if you 
wish it, we will turn you into a beautiful flower, 
a spring flower, that all people will love and 
wish for.” 


158 '^Just One More*^ Stories 

“But,” said the Princess, “how about my dear 
old faithful Soldier? He has been so good to 
me — I must have him near me always.” 

“You shall,” promised the Fairy Queen. “I 
will see that he is always with you, to shelter 
and shield you.” 

She waved her magic wand, then leaned over 
and touched the Princess lightly with it — then 
it rested on the Soldier, and — presto — change! 

Where the two had stood bloomed now a 
lovely, frail white flower, guarded and enfolded 
by a big, rough, protecting leaf! 

And truly all who saw the Princess now 
loved her dearly, but though they admired her 
much, the people who saw her gave her a 
rather ugly name. They called her “Blood- 
root.” 

But the Princess liked the name. For she 
knew that as long as the blood flowed from the 
great protecting leaf when it was picked, her 
Soldier was still loving and faithful in his 
Soldier was still loving and faithful in his heart. 

And so she lived and bloomed and was very 
happy — she and her Soldier, too. 

And if you go out into the woods in the 
spring time, you can still find them there, 
together. 


Naughty Nick 


159 


NAUGHTY NICK 

Nick was a big, green parrot. He was very 
beautiful, but he was very naughty, too. He 
knew a great deal, and he liked to say things 
that made people jump. 

The little boy to whom he belonged did not 
like to go to school, so his mother had to say 
very often, “Hurry — hurry — you’ll be late,” 
and Nick learned to say it, too. 

Their house was not far from a school, and 
in the spring Nick’s cage was set out on the 
porch in the sunshine, bright and early, so he 
could watch the children going past. 

One morning four little girls went slowly 
by, talking together, when suddenly, “Hurry — 
hurry — you’ll be late!” cried a loud voice. 

Every little girl gave a squeal, and ran as 
tight as she could go, while behind they could 
hear somebody laughing — such queer, horrid 
laughter. 

And when, all hot and scared, they got to the 
school house, why it was not late at all! 

The very next day some small boys came 
tearing into the school yard in the same way, 
and were laughed at, and then it was two of 
the biggest girls who were caught, and came 


160 


'^Just One More** Stories 

running along with their long braids flopping, 
and then, one morning, a fussy, fat little teacher 
who was generally very dignified indeed, ran 
up the front steps as hard as she could go, and 
then looked silly when she found she was not 
late at all! 

And when all these people put their heads 
together to talk things over, they found they 
had all heard that naughty laughter. Some- 
body had been playing a great joke on them! 

Then they found out about Nick! After 
that, instead of running hard when he called 
after them, and giving him a chance to laugh, 
the children would stand and laugh at him, 
until poor Nick would dance on his perch with 
anger, and shriek at the children. 

But as they didn’t mind that, either, after a 
bit Nick learned to just turn his back on the 
street, and not pay any attention to the folks 
who went by. He had liked to tease other 
people, but he hated being teased himself, and 
always, if anybody said to him, “Hurry — hurry 
— you’ll be late!” he would get just as sulky ^ 
as could be! - 


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